Dark Passion Play
by EchoDeltaNine
Summary: Voldemort's won and Hermione Granger's hell is just beginning. What kind of dark passions will she find and succumb to in Malfoy Manor? Or will she find herself a victim of her own dark passion play? AU Voldemort wins.
1. Consign to Oblivion

**Dark Passion Play**

**By EchoDeltaNine**

**Chapter 1: Consign to Oblivion**

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_Boom! Shring! Bang!_

She covered her head as another wave of dust and shrapnel rained down from the floor above. She could barely see through the haze hanging in the air, but she plowed through the rubble; the unknown was much better than waiting for the known.

"_Impedimenta!_" She ducked the spell, throwing herself behind a half-destroyed marble column. "_Reducto!_" The column shook with the curse, several cracks branching over its pearly surface, but it held.

She peeked around the corner of her shield. There were several of them, all hooded in black cloaks.

"If you come out, perhaps we won't have to kill you," one of them sneered. She couldn't place the voice with a face, but she recognized it; it was a voice she had heard jeering at her during the six years she had spent at Hogwarts.

She sucked in several gasps of air, trying desperately to think her way out of her predicament. She could take them, right? She was the best witch of her age!

But several things happened at once that left that one fact irrelevant and forgotten.

First, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom scampered into sight, voices loud and spells raining down on the stand of death eaters that had her trapped.

Second, the cloaked idiots were taken completely unaware and a fierce battle ensued that caused several screams and one very broken leg.

The Light won, of course. Ginny, Neville, and Hermione took out all six of the death eaters with little effort, though it left each of them exhausted.

"Come on," Neville panted, taking Ginny by the sleeve of her shirt. "Harry's in the Great Hall. He needs our help." The girls nodded and began to follow him, but there was one event that had been vastly overlooked: one of those cloaked men had gotten lucky and tripped on an untied shoe just as Hermione Granger tossed a very damaging spell into the fray. And, in a corner of the hall, clutching a stitch in his side, was said death eater, watching the three of them converse.

Something made Hermione pause as she watched her two friends sprint down the stairs at the end of the hall. She turned, gazing at the destruction that the battle had caused. Bodies littered the floor, some beginning to stir as she watched.

Suddenly she felt eyes on her. It was a feeling she was not used to, but one she had most certainly experienced, and one she did not like. She tightened her hand around her wand, rehearsing a mantra of curses in her head, ready to use one at even the slightest sign of danger.

But even she was not prepared for him. He walked like death, only raising small clouds of dust as he strode silently through the carnage. And then his hands were on her, forcing her arm away from him, her wand disappearing with the clatter of wood on stone, a scream locked in her throat as she was thrown roughly against a wall.

"Don't." The voice was harsh as he pinned her to the stone, a wand shoved into her throat. "Get the hell out of here," he hissed, his voice urgent. "Get out and run. Do you hear me?" He shook her roughly, his hood falling back to reveal stormy silver eyes and severely pointed features. "Run and don't you ever look back." He shook her again and she nodded quickly, swallowing hard as he jabbed her again with his wand. "You're losing. Don't get caught in the aftermath." He looked around them quickly and stepped away, throwing her towards the main stair case.

"Go!" he yelled and she only looked back once, to kneel and search blindly for her wand, and to catch him sweeping away into the gloom.

She didn't need much more encouragement.

She descended the stairs as quickly as she could, stunning two death eaters on her way across the entrance hall. But how could she just abandon Harry? How could she leave Ron and Ginny and Neville? All her friends, all those people who would die trying to protect them all?

On a sigh of frustration she dashed back to the doors of the Great Hall, and she immediately wished she hadn't.

In the center of the hall, a tall, snake-like figure circled around a young, dark-haired boy. The two were snarling at each other, but she couldn't understand a word that was being said. There were several different battles happening throughout the hall, and she watched her friends and family fall one by one.

Tears streaked her face when she heard the words. _Avada Kadavra_. One flash of green light and Harry Potter slumped to the ground and lay still.

A sob caught in her throat as the hall went silent, every eye turned towards her fallen friend and the victorious form of Lord Voldemort. Several moments passed and then the quiet was cut by a vicious, mirthless laugh, and her heart sank in her chest.

She wanted to stay, to go and take out the man for her friend, but the death eaters were already swarming around their leader and his prize. She would have no chance.

She tried to find Ginny and Neville, Ron, and anybody else but she saw no one.

"I told you to get out." A voice beside her made her jump and a small yelp escaped her lips. His frigid grey eyes were like daggers as she met his gaze. He did not speak again and instead pushed her towards the doors before turning his back on her once again, entering the hall to participate in the celebration.

She did not want to be told again, so she took off running as fast as she could across the grounds. Even as she did, she had little hope of getting out. There were so many of Voldemort's followers in the grounds that the likelihood of her escaping was a million to one.

She was lucky. She nearly made it to the gates, they weren't 200 yards away when the spell hit her.

"_Stupefy_!" Her breath released in a gasp and Hermione Granger fell face-first onto the ground, her only hope of escape gone before it really even began.

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The noise around her was deafening. Everyone was screaming and crying, shouting profanities, shaking the chains that anchored them in the room. The woman next to her had streaks of blood across her face and she kept sobbing about her missing children. The man on her left had lashed out in a fit of rage and had been removed several hours ago.

Hermione herself kept quiet, pressing herself into the wall trying to appear as insignificant as possible. The whole getup reminded her of a history lesson on the slave trade from Africa; all those people had been packaged like sardines in over-stuffed boats and taken to a place in which there were people who thought they were better than the others.

This was no different, except each of the enslaved were muggle-born witches and wizards. The smell was terrible: all human sweat; though, admittedly, the captors had allowed them to use a proper bathroom.

In any case, Hermione had not been fed in at least two days, and the little water she had been given had not lasted very long at all. It was panic time, now. What, exactly, were the purebloods going to do with them? Were they going to murder them all as an example to the blood traitors and anyone who thought that the purebloods were wrong? Was it going to result in a magical Holocaust?

She didn't much like to think about it, but as the hours passed, she didn't have much else to consider. She had already counted the number of floorboards in the room (one hundred and three), the number of seconds between the guards' rounds (one thousand eight hundred seventy six), and also the number of freckles on the red-headed girl across from her (three hundred and forty seven), and her brain was finally sulking to more intellectual matters.

However, today, a new tension was in the air. The guards were harsher than normal, setting silencing spells on those prisoners who were rowdy, and they even went around scorgifying everyone. Even though the object of the spell was to clean, she felt disgusting afterwards. Her hair was a frizzy mess and her skin too dry, her clothes missing the smell and feeling of using a dryer sheet.

Several hours passed before it happened. The door banged open and the supreme guard shouted for silence.

"Quiet!" he yelled, brandishing his wand as he strode into the room. "Get up, all of you! And stay quiet!" Grumbles sounded in a wave followed by several yelps of pain as the guard flicked his wand. "I said silence!"

Hermione stood silently, her head bowed. Whatever was coming didn't sound very appealing, and she hoped that if she just did what she was told then she would be ignored.

"Don't move, any of you," the guard snapped before leaving them to themselves once again.

"What do you think is going to happen?" The girl next to Hermione asked. Hermione shrugged noncommittally. Silence was protection here.

They didn't have to wait long before the guard returned with a pack of wealthy men behind him. Hermione tried to keep her eyes on the floor. She didn't like this one bit. But when she heard a voice she recognized, she couldn't help but look up.

"What is this?" Draco Malfoy's voice was full of disgust. All those people with their hands chained together and tethered to the floor…it disgusted him! "What the hell is this?"

"This, son," Lucius replied, leading the group up a row, "is all of the prisoners taken after the Dark Lord's triumph." He sneered at several of the prisoners, jerking the hem of his cloak away from a desperate-looking man who had fallen to his knees. "In his gratitude, he has granted his most loyal followers their pick of the lot." He looked down his nose as they started down another row. "Not very impressive, it seems…."

"I don't want slaves," Draco said disgustedly. "What is the point?"

"The Dark Lord has given us a high honor, Draco. Do not question his bequest." Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at the prisoners they passed. Not one of them stood out to him; they all looked malnourished and weak, filthy even. Besides, they were all mudbloods. What use could they be to him?

Draco stalked the aisles, looking into every face as he passed. He saw a blonde-haired, freckled face that he thought looked like Lavender Brown; and there was that raven-haired boy from Hufflepuff that Draco had once punched on the Quidditch pitch.

He was beginning to believe that Voldemort was an old crackpot that needed to rethink his gifts when he saw her. Her face was hidden by her massive amounts of hair, but there was something about her. Perhaps it was that she stood ramrod straight and that she didn't seem fearful, but rather as if she were trying to appear invisible. Perhaps it was that when she raked her eyes over the group come to claim them and her bright, intelligent brown eyes stared loathingly into his own, she jutted her chin into the air defiantly.

And, perhaps it was the fact that he had told her to run. To get the fuck out of there and away from Hogwarts and England and magic in general. But she had not listened; and though he knew she had tried to heed his warning, it did not change the fact that she hated him and that he loathed her.

She bared her teeth as he paused in front of her. If he wasn't sure that she was restrained, he would have been fearful of being attacked. But instead she held her ground, glaring balefully from under all of her hair.

"I've changed my mind." Draco turned towards his father, but his eyes never left hers. "I want _her_." He pointed once at Hermione and then swept gracefully from the room.

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**A/N: So, new story guys. I'm really pleased with what I have so far, so let me know what you all think! I will read a fanfic from every reviewer and I will review those fanfics too! Let me know what you think :)**


	2. End of All Hope

**Dark Passion Play**

**By EchoDeltaNine**

**Chapter 2: End of All Hope**

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She hedged away from Lucius Malfoy's touch as he twined a hand ruthlessly in her hair, yanking her by his side, forcing her to keep up with his long strides. She refused to let him have the satisfaction of making her yelp, but he was sorely testing her resolve because the intense pain in the back of her skull was making her eyes water.

The entrance to the Manor loomed in sight though, so she gulped a lungful of air and forced herself to clear her mind. If there was nothing to think about, there was no pain.

As soon as Lucius dragged her through the door, he turned abruptly to the right and threw her face down onto the floor of the drawing room. It was the exact spot that Bellatrix had tortured her not a month ago. This fact made her body begin to shake in trepidation, despite her willing it to stop.

"Do not move," her captor sneered. "If you so much as move an inch you will rue the day you were born." _Too bad I already do_, she wanted to shoot back; but she valued her life and she was not looking for a death threat.

She collapsed fully against the deep burgundy carpet, letting the whole of her body fall to the floor in exhaustion. The last several hours had been horrendously trying on her patience and ability to play along with this sadistic game. The roots of her hair hurt from where it had been pulled, and her body had been scrubbed with an abrasive sponge to clear the grime from her skin, leaving it smarting in the cool evening air. They had "prettied" her up to be "presentable," but Lucius found her less than pleasing and so here she was, sprawled on the floor at his mercy.

Of course, she would fight it all tooth and nail until he was forced to kill her. She valued her life, yes, but she was not going to submit to him. Not ever.

She stilled her breathing as a commotion occurred in the entrance hall, straining her ears to hear what was going on. She shouldn't have wasted the precious moments, for the small party came into the room and the voices that she heard made her blood run cold.

She was panting before Lucius made his way back to her.

"Oooh, how delightful!" Bellatrix Lestrange's voice rang through her head, her giddy, sadistic laughter bringing tears to her eyes before she could hold them back. "A little Mudlood for our fun!"

"No, Bella," Lucius hissed, though he did not stop her from yanking Hermione's head back by her hair, forcing her cruel black eyes into her captive's own. "She is Draco's prize."

"No, no, no," she purred, her wand tracing the outline of Hermione's jaw. "He will surely share with his favorite auntie, no?" She grinned wildly and then threw Hermione back to the floor. She slumped down, her muscles shaking. She would not acquiesce to Lucius, but it was wise to be submissive to Bellatrix.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Draco, _language_!" his mother softly chastised the boy as his presence came into the room. No one answered though; it brought an anxiety to her stomach that they showed such wariness to him.

"Answer me!" She flinched at his icy tone.

"Your prize, my son," Lucius murmured, pulling her up by a tug to the collar of her shirt. She stood as straight as she could, staring at Draco coldly, though refusing to meet his eyes. He studied her with calculated indifference that just toed the line of irritation.

"Such a fine specimen, Draco," Bella whispered in her sultry way. "Surely you'll want help to break her in?" She was surprised to see his eyes flash and the clench of his jaw as he turned the full force of his eyes on his aunt.

"No," he said firmly. "Leave us." When no one moved except for Bellatrix to jut out her bottom lip in a childish pout, he narrowed his eyes and Hermione could practically feel his displeasure rolling off of him in waves. "Now!" he barked, his stance in one of control and he watched her while the rest of their audience fled the room.

She stood in the center of the room, allowing her hair to hide her face while she watched him from below her lashes. Her breath was still coming in quiet pants and her heart was still racing. God, she _hated_ that woman.

But her only concern at the moment was Draco. He did not move, but only stared at her in silent disapproval.

Suddenly he prowled towards her. Despite her promise to never back down from him, she took several uncontrollable steps backwards, falling with a _harrumph _onto the beige couch. She glared up at him, wary of her reaction.

She flinched when he brought his hand up, thinking he meant to hit her, but he surprised her by brushing her frizzed hair out of her face and kneeling before her, all in one fluid motion.

"You stupid, stupid girl," he chastised, though it lacked the malice she was used to. "Stop," he ordered when she recoiled away from his hands. He sighed in quiet frustration, rising to cross the room, returning to her side with a damp cloth in his hands. "I won't hurt you," he murmured, kneeling once more.

She cringed despite herself as he raised the cloth, gently rubbing it across her cheeks. He drew the cloth over her throat and collarbone before sitting back on his heels, looking up at her.

"God, Granger." He rose again and brought his long, pale fingers to play across her skin, wiping away the new tears that spilled from her eyes. "I told you to run. I _told_ you." He sighed, leaning towards her. She leaned back to keep the distance between them, but he invaded her personal space and sank his mouth to her ear.

"Listen, and listen closely," he whispered. Her eyes were drawn to the pale hand set on the arm of the couch, clutched so tightly that his knuckles were bone white and all the tendons stood out under his skin. "I don't want this. Not for a second. But there are things that I am compelled to do; not because I want them. Understand this." She shivered as his lips tickled her ear. "You now belong to me—no, don't protest—you will do as I say, when I say it. Do you understand?" She bit back her tears. Whatever compassion he'd shown her thirty seconds ago was gone, obviously, so she nodded, bitter.

"You do not have to obey anyone else. They cannot touch or harm you without my permission. I will not give them that permission." He pulled back, reaching into a small case on the desk, bringing out a vicious looking collar.

"No," she choked. She hated that she'd allowed herself to be weak, to beg of him what she promised herself she wouldn't. But this? This was too much. He could make her do anything, and she would obey, no sass; but a collar? She was sure it came with a wicked matching leash.

"I-I _have_ to." The tone of his voice made her look up. His eyes were soft towards her, but they hardened when he fingered the material. "I cannot protect you without this, Granger. It won't hurt you. But I assure you _they will_."

She swallowed hard, contemplating, before she hung her head and stretched out her neck in humiliation. She found it somewhere in her body to trust him; if only for a moment.

His fingers itched over her throat, looping the black material around her neck, fastening it with the silver hooks at the nape of her neck. It burned, making her hiss, the moment he let go. She glared up at him with accusing eyes and watched him frown, though he did not say a word about it.

"This," he touched the collar and it practically jumped towards his fingers, yanking her person closer to him. "Is a nasty device that will force you to do my bidding. You will do whatever I ask of you, how I ask, and when I ask; if you refuse, you are punished, by my hand, or by any such others I approve appropriate." Her hate rekindled as he coached her in her new role in life. "It is extremely easy to trace and only I can take it off. Do not try to leave. You're rather like a house elf now; when I say your name, you come. When I tell you to sit, you sit. When I forbid you to do something, it is forbidden. When I tell you to heel, you heel like the good little bitch you are."

Though she'd been expecting him to throw some terrible words at her, she did not expect the ones he gave her now, and it surprised her how much it hurt. He had been so gentle a few minutes before; if not caring then at least compassionate; but now he was being so cruel and it broke her on the inside. She was not a compliant puppy; she did not give out sexual favors, like he was insinuating, and she did not want to do his dirty business for him.

So she gave him her most loathsome glare which he answered coolly with his silver eyes as Bellatrix, Rodulphus, and his parents reentered the room, accompanied by the Notts and Zabinis. Bellatrix crowed to her nephew that he had guests and he boldly held up a hand to staunch her obnoxiousness.

"You will go to your room on the third floor and stay there; turn left at the stairs; it is the third door on the right. We will speak of accommodations later." She wanted to snarl at him but instead she nodded once. "One more thing, don't touch anything outside of that room. Do you understand?" She stared cruelly at him while his audience watched. "Answer me," he demanded dangerously. She was surprised by the magic that forced her to nod once again. "Good, now go."

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She left through the doors, leaving mirthless laughter in her wake, feeling utter humiliation.

The Manor was all dark woods and shadowy accents, bringing a gloom about the place that made her shiver. The afternoon sun slanting through the windows was a grey that left her feeling cold and her mood bleak.

She followed Draco's instructions, rising up three flights of stairs lavished in dark green carpet. She paused at the top, faced with several floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the garden. It was just as dark as the rest of the house; large bushes adorned with blood-red roses. Dark-colored trees and other plants, sometimes splashed with color. It was rather a depressing sight and did nothing to improve her spirits.

She pattered down the hallway and opened the third door on the right. It was disgusting to her tastes. Blonde wooded dressers and vanity, the same for the bed frame. A dusty rose coverlet adorned the bed. She suspected it was too nice. Too…hospitable. A great feeling of trepidation sank into her stomach. Surely he did not mean for her to stay there?

She sighed and softly closed the door behind her. She had her own bathroom, even. It all seemed unreal to her, but she figured that he was only holding her here until his guests left, and then he would take her to the little closet of a room to live in while she tended to his every whim. It left her feeling disgusting and worthless.

She looked around again, swallowed hard, and strode to the bed. She half expected the mattress to disappear as soon as she sat on it, but it didn't, and it was the softest thing she'd ever felt. She sighed again and stretched out across its length, at least trying to relax before she was really thrust into the fires of hell.

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**A/N: I just want to say that I am so glad this has been well received! Thanks to lovealan, an anon reviewer, for my first review! And also thanks to SugarSweet82, Aelmira Romani, and another anon reviewer! I will be reading and reviewing your stories very soon! And also thanks to Family Tradition, tacker23, Emily. , lizgarner, FrayaMarloWoulds, babelicious1, cullen's pet, GNTGenius, SugarSweet82, Tsuki916, orli's babe, gummyrayv2010, Audrey Starring as Herself, rhileigh, Bellen1996, SapphireDreamer26, and jlhclayton for following Dark Passion Play. Thank you to Aelmira Romoni for favoriting Dark Passion Play. And also thank you to vampirequeengoddess and orli's babe for favoriting me as an author! **

**Now, after that long thank you, please review chapter 2! Anyone who reviews Dark Passion Play will have one of their stories read and reviewed by me. I will update again next week! :)**


	3. Too Close to Breathe

**Dark Passion Play**

**By EchoDeltaNine**

**Chapter 3: Too Close to Breathe**

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A knock on the door awakened her. She stared through bleary eyes at the ceiling, trying to figure out where she was. Another knock sent it driving into her brain.

Oh. Right.

When an appropriate amount of time passed to give another knock, the door opened instead. She was annoyed at first, but when she realized it was Draco, something made her jump to her feet and stand, watching him, from across the room.

He stared at her too, his eyes dark, expression unreadable. After several tense minutes, he hefted the tray in his hands and set it on the end of the bed.

"I thought you might be hungry," he murmured. Her eyes darted to the tray, a portion of chicken and potatoes, a dinner roll, even a small cup of pudding with a sprig of mint. It was steaming pleasantly, permeating the air and, admittedly, making her mouth water. She wanted to dig in, but she wouldn't so much as look at it twice with him in the room. She would not appear desperate; even if it killed her.

"Is this going to work out for you? You seem like a white and pink kind of person."

"I hate it." It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Even if she'd loved it, she probably would have said it any way, but she didn't particularly want him to know anything about her—not even her taste in furniture.

"I'll have something else ordered for you tomorrow. What about it do you hate?" She bit her lip and looked away, determined to be silent. "Tell me, please." She bit down so hard she tasted blood, but the magic made her answer.

"I hate light woods. I hate the color pink. I like cherry or ebony. Silver or gold." She was panting by the end with the effort to hold it in, but it was out now, so she turned to hide the emotion in her eyes.

"Granger." He paused and she heard tentative steps before silence consumed them once more. "Come here." An audible hiss of pain escaped her lips before she was forced to walk across the room to him. She kept her eyes on his chest, refusing to give him total satisfaction.

She clenched her eyes closed when he raised his hand. She was positive he was going to hit her this time, but it never came. Instead her cheek was met with gentle fingers.

"I am sorry about the way I spoke to you. Aunt Bella was listening at the door." His other hand rose to cup her face. "Look at me, Granger." Her eyes opened and he stared into their honey-colored depths. He searched her face, his expression soft and his voice gentle. "I will not hurt you. I am not unreasonable." At her skeptical expression he dropped his hands and stepped away from her.

"You think me a monster, Granger, but you really don't know a thing about me. I will not hurt you." His raw sincerity made her believe him, though she was loath to let it show.

They stared at each other for another couple of minutes before he spoke again.

"Eat something, please. I'll have new furniture ordered for you tomorrow, and I will teach you the ways of the Manor in the morning." With every word her distress grew and she was soon choking back tears. "Don't cry," he whispered, reaching up to wipe away her tears. "Come on, Granger." She shook her head and he sighed, defeated.

"There is some clothing in the closet and dresser; old stuff of Parkinson's and Daphne's. If it isn't to your needs, make a list, and I'll get it for you. Okay?" Another sob was his answer.

"Granger," she glanced up. "I'm right next door, if you need me." He searched her face once more, stroking a finger across her cheek to rid her face of tears, and then he left with a quiet "good-night."

She stared after him, her breath coming in gasps. She was so confused! Here was this boy, who had tormented her throughout her Hogwarts years, and he was being so nice to her! Did Hell freeze over, or was she just in a parallel universe?

She supposed it didn't matter, but it made her nervous because she didn't know which Malfoy was the real one nor which one she feared the most.

She stared at the door he had disappeared through for a long time. She didn't really want to be alone; not in this strange house; not with Bellatrix Lestrange lurking about. She considered going to Draco, but she didn't know what the hell she would do once she got there; she also thought about trying to get out, but she didn't think that he had lied to her about the collar's traceable capabilities.

So she ate a few bites of the food she no longer had an appetite for and then crawled back into bed and burrowed herself under the covers and tried to remember what Ron's shirts and her mother's perfume smelled like.

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Hermione woke at sunrise. She had had a terrible night, tossing and turning, nightmare after nightmare, after nightmare. She stared blearily out at the gardens as the soft rays of sunshine slanted through her window. She was terrified of the day to come.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but it was a long time and she was so consumed within her own thoughts that she didn't hear the knocking or the door opening and she jumped violently when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, hey," Draco's soft voice almost instantly soothed her, but when she realized this she stiffened immediately. She had no idea how she was supposed to act around him. He slowly retracted his hand. "I brought you breakfast." He set a bowl of steaming oatmeal on the bed in front of her, but she didn't think she would be able to stomach it.

She wanted to say thanks, to tell him that she appreciated the gesture, but she couldn't; it just wouldn't come out. But she managed a nod, hoping he would leave.

He didn't.

Instead he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her.

"Granger, you have to eat." Admittedly, the oatmeal was making her mouth water, but, as with the night before, she would not let him see how much she wanted it.

"I'm not hungry." She turned her face towards the window—anything to avoid his eyes.

"Granger." His voice was soft, his hand gentle as he touched her shoulder. "Please don't make this difficult. You have to eat. I won't let you starve to death."

She was surprised by her own venom as she turned and glared at him. "I would rather die than live in servitude to you, Malfoy."

"Hermione—" She recoiled at his voice, moving quickly across the bed, upending the bowl of oatmeal in the process, before sliding unceremoniously to the floor. She pressed herself into the corner of the room, crushing her knees to her chest.

She was dreaming. She _had_ to be! Had he really just used her first name? What the _fuck_ was going on?

"Granger?" She heard him get up, and shuffle around the bed to peer down at her. "What are you doing?"

"Don't come near me," she whispered, burying her face in her knees. She didn't like the familiarity in which he had used her name. _Hermione_. He had never, ever, called her by her first name, and now that she was some kind of slave for him, she didn't think he had any right to use it now.

He sighed quietly but did not heed her request. Instead he squeezed into the corner right next to her, his arm brushing against her. She flinched away from him.

"Hermione," he tried again and she looked up to glare at him.

"Don't call me that," she hissed. He frowned.

"It's your name."

"That doesn't mean you have any right to call me by it. You haven't for the past seven years, Malfoy. Now you've got me exactly where you think I belong: under the heel of your shoe; so don't act like you're sorry about it." She was horrified to hear the tears in her voice, but she hid them in her arms.

Draco was silent for a long time, his head tilted back against the wall.

"I know that I do not deserve your forgiveness, Hermione, but I have to beg it of you anyway." He was quiet again, thinking. "I do not ask you to condone my behavior—I was a right bastard to you, and Potter, and Weasley—but I ask you to understand that I am not that stupid boy anymore. I—"he broke off to clear his throat. "I am not who you think I am."

"Then who are you?" she snapped back. "Who are you, _Draco_? A boy who participates in human trafficking? One who kills off the headmasters of schools? Who are you?"

Her eyes stared defiantly into his, challenging him, as she always had. But he didn't answer her question, asking one himself instead.

"What is it about Harry Potter that makes him so likeable? And, for that matter, what makes you a Gryffindor when all signs point to you being a Ravenclaw?" He looked down at his hands, twisting them together in agitation. "Loyalty. That's what. You, Potter, and Weasley—you all have a fierce sense of loyalty to one another, and to all of your friends. You would give your life for them, and they for you. That is what sets you apart.

"I don't have friends like that. You don't make friends with Slytherins—you keep them in your sights and under your influence, and then you drop them when it becomes inconvenient to keep them around.

"And, despite what you may think, I have a sense of loyalty too. But it's to my family." He raised his eyes up to meet hers once again. "They are all I have, and it's my responsibility to hold up the family name."

Silence. A hard swallow.

"He threatened to kill my mother, if I didn't take the mission. I didn't have a choice, Hermione." He shook his head. "What would you have done in my place?"

She didn't answer, too afraid that her voice would catch and realizing that this conversation was becoming way too personal for her liking. They spent several minutes staring at each other before Draco sighed and moved to stand.

"Listen," he said quietly, "I promise that I will take care of you, but you have to trust me. You have to eat, okay? I won't let you starve to death while you are here." Once he had regained his feet he reached down and picked Hermione up from the floor. He set her on the edge of the bed and placed the bowl of oatmeal in her lap. "Eat and shower, okay? I'll be back in an hour and I'll give you the tour of the house. Alright?" She stared at her lap, his intense gaze somehow turning her brain off. "Granger?"

She nodded mutely, unable to really process a coherent response. He stared at her for another minute before he gently touched her arm and took his leave. The small gesture was comforting, even though she knew she shouldn't trust him. He had made her life a living hell for seven years, killed Dumbledore, and then adopted her as a slave. She didn't understand where this sudden compassion had come from.

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**A/N: Thank you everyone again for your enthusiasm! It makes me so happy that so many people are following Dark Passion Play! I would like to thank Nia Hazlitt, SugarSweet82, Twizard2013 and Guest (a lovely anon) for reviewing! It makes my day knowing that you like it! Also thank you to Sly Slytherin Princess, jinnabun, Bookz24, YummyLove, Twizard2013, The Raven's Sight, Love in the rain, qvwxz, MelodicHodgePodge890, Sarah Gaskarth, breakyourselffool, greyc, Aradia1013, rairio, and emathelier for follwing the story. Thank you to iceribbongirl, natasha-jade, Sly Slytherin Princess, macer0307, MelodicHodgePodge890, Nia Hazlitt, and rairio for favoriting the story. And thank you to emathelier and Kristennicole10 for follwing me!**

**I really appreciate all of your thoughts, so drop a review if you have a few minutes! Anyone who reviews Dark Passion Play will get one of their stories read and reviewed by me :). ****I will update again next week!**


	4. Red Handed

**Dark Passion Play**

**By EchoDeltaNine**

**Chapter 4: Red Handed**

* * *

Despite herself, she ate the oatmeal. It wasn't very good, but it settled warmly in her stomach and she felt full afterward.

She took a long shower, too, and after cleaning herself she stood under the hot spray for nearly twenty minutes. It was soothing to her body and it helped to turn off her mind. But she was brought back to reality when Draco came knocking on her door.

"Granger, you okay?" Hermione sighed before rolling her shoulders and shutting the water off. She didn't reply but took her time drying off and getting dressed in the cream slacks and purple blouse that she had found in the armoire. Draco called her name twice more, but she didn't emerge until her hair was half under control.

Draco's honest smile took her aback when she finally stepped into the bedroom. "You look better," he said gently. She didn't know whether that was supposed to be an insult or not, so she didn't answer and instead walked past him to make her bed.

He watched her in silence until she was done before he cleared his throat. "Are you ready?" She turned and gave him a level look. He smiled uncomfortably before bowing his head. "Alright, I get it." He shook his head and attempted a more inviting expression. "I promise it's not difficult."

"As if it matters," she snapped back, slipping her feet into the flats she'd found by the doors. "These are too small."

"What size shall I send for?" His immediate concern for what she needed confused her. What did he care if they were too small? She must have let the thought flicker over her face because he gave her a soft look. "I told you that I would get you whatever you need, Hermione. I never go back on my word."

"I don't see how it concerns you."

"Does it matter? It does concern me, so drop it, alright?" She had annoyed him with her flippancy and now his jaw was tight, but he was still trying to be pleasant. "What size do you need?"

"Nine," she answered shortly.

"Okay." He nodded once and then paced towards the door. "Come on, we have to get going if we want to miss Aunt Bella."

"What?" Hermione hurried after Draco. "What do you mean if we want to miss her?"

"Part of your duties are to clean her room, but I don't want you there when she's here." He led her down to the second floor and down two hallways before stopping at a darkened dead end. He paused outside the door on the right and rapped sharply on the door. "Aunt Bella?"

When there was no answer he twisted the door knob and strode into the room. The windows were covered by thick, black curtains and the walls were painted a harsh gray. The furniture was ebony and the bed was covered by a rumpled green coverlet. The large desk against the right wall boasted a collection of deadly looking daggers and there were several dark objects resting on an ornate bookcase by the bed.

There was a ton of crumpled paper on the floor and the bed hangings were in tatters. Broken glass glittered against the dark carpet and the container of brandy was tipped haphazardly over the edge of the bedside table.

Draco grimaced before turning to Hermione. "I wouldn't have asked you to do this but she seems to think that she has control over everything. It's easier to just agree. She is gone between eight and ten, and you must be done before she gets back. I won't have you being attacked."

Hermione did not miss the fact that he had repeated himself. He did not want her anywhere near Bellatrix, but why, honestly? His blatant concern for her wellbeing was completely out of character for him and she was having trouble accepting it. He had spent all his years at Hogwarts putting on a front and she didn't trust any of his personalities, no matter how pleasant they appeared.

"Make the bed, keep the floor clear, make sure the brandy is full, and dust the bookcase. But don't touch anything, do you understand?" He moved towards the bookcase and eyed it with contempt. "Everything on here is extremely dangerous. Use a duster, but don't touch anything." He turned back to her. "Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." He crouched down and began to clear up the papers by the desk, tossing each of them towards the small trash can by the door. After a few moments he shifted back on his heels and raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Are you going to help me?"

Hermione bowed her head once and then knelt next to him, collecting the pieces of glass that covered the floor.

"I swear she ruins a set of tumblers every week," Draco muttered in disgust.

"Why does she destroy them?" Draco looked up at her, his expression one of light surprise. Did he expect her not to wonder?

"I don't know. She gets herself into a right tizzy over the stupidest things. Since she broke Grandfather's heirloom set, Mother has bought her cheap glass ones." Hermione watched him frown and shift himself closer to the fireplace. "She still ruins them, though."

"She's a vile woman." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them and Draco's sharp, reprimanding look made her feel sick.

"No matter how true that may be, I cannot allow you to speak that way."

Hermione dipped her head again, lowering her gaze to the floor in submission. "I am sorry," she whispered. He did not answer her so she continued to pick up the glass in silence. What did he expect? The woman had tortured her, nearly killed her. Hermione had never been afraid of anyone the way she feared Bellatrix. Insulting her was the only way she knew how to deal with that fear.

Draco finished picking up the papers and regained his height. She could feel his eyes on her, but she did not look up until he cleared his throat. She collected the last piece of glass on the floor and glanced up at his commanding tone.

He had his wand out, twisting it between his fingers. Instantly she stilled. Was he going to punish her for the insult? For shying away from him when he was trying to be nice to her?

"Hurry up," he snapped, his eyes hard. Oh. So this was the game, yes? He would play nicey nice for ten minutes and then commanding slave owner for the rest of the day. Great.

"So help me, Granger," he threatened, taking a step towards her. Frightened by his coldness, Hermione stood up and deposited the glass into the wastebasket, holding back a gasp of pain as a sharp edge caught between her fingers. "Now take down the bed hangings."

She wanted to look at him, to stand and stare and beg to know what had happened to the man who had brought her breakfast, but the collar around her neck tightened and forced her to the bed without further delay.

She tore the hangings down in one swift motion and gathered them into a tight ball, then deposited them into the trash bin. She turned to Draco, but before she could say a word he was thrusting a feather duster into her hands.

"Hurry up, Granger. Dust the bookcase, make the bed, and then come to the room across the hall. You have five minutes." He turned on his heel and marched out the door without further delay, leaving Hermione on her own. She wanted badly to follow him, to leave Bellatrix's room and never return, but she was compelled again by the collar to obey Malfoy's commands.

She had to rise up to the very tips of her toes to reach the top shelf. Several crystal bottles decorated that shelf, each a host to a deadly poison, Hermione was sure. She dusted it carefully and quickly, moving as fast as she could to the next shelf—covered in at least twenty precious stones, each carved into the shape of a skull. The third held a collection of books with Latin titles that made her skin crawl, and the last two held an assortment of amulets, bracelets, rings, and barrettes.

She wanted badly to examine one bracelet—seemingly a spider web spun of pure gold, dew drops glistening in a dark topaz—but just as she was reaching for it the door burst open and Hermione jolted to her feet.

Bellatrix stood in the doorway, her crazed, black eyes glittering behind her monstrous amount of hair. Hermione's blood ran cold as she watched the monster bare her teeth in a predatory smile.

"Mudblood," she sneered, but somehow made it sound like an exciting game. "Oh, how wonderful. Draco has sent you to me much sooner than I expected." Hermione clutched the feather duster close to her even though she could feel the blood draining from her face. How was she supposed to escape from this? "Tell me, Mudblood, what did you do?"

"I-I-I was j-just straightening up-p your room. Per y-your requirements." Hermione stumbled quickly over her words, wishing with all her might that Draco, nicey nice or cruel, would come to run interference, if anything.

Bellatrix's pout did nothing to hide the predatory gleam in her eyes. "Oh, is that all? Well I can see two things wrong with this situation, Mudblood. For one, my bed isn't made, and," Hermione felt her heart convulse painfully as Bellatrix crossed to her, nearly brushing up against her as she examined the book shelf, then crossed to the desk, pulling a strand of Hermione's hair with her. "And, my brandy is still empty."

Hermione froze as Bellatrix pulled a dagger from the belt at her hip. It was the same one that had carved _MUDBLOOD_ into her skin three months ago.

"Tell me, Mudblood, do you feel that you have fulfilled my requirements to a satisfactory degree?"

"I wasn't fin—"

"Yes or no, Mudblood," Bellatrix demanded angrily.

"No, Ma'am," Hermione answered obediently.

"Ah, good. So we agree. Now, I _know_ Draco has decided to be all selfish and has collared you with the intention of allowing only himself to punish you, but do you not think that we can make a small exception? You have not completed your chores correctly and I am _incredibly_ _displeased_." Every word that she spoke put dread into Hermione's stomach until her knees were trembling. She wanted to deny it, defend herself, but her throat was closed up in her panic.

"Good, it is agreed," Bellatrix purred, hefting the dagger and prowling towards her prey. "Shall we add a pretty new scar to your other arm? I think 'unacceptable' might look nice, or perhaps 'dead meat' will be better."

In a second Hermione was on her back, pinned beneath the monster again.

"No," she begged, finally finding her voice as tears poured down her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. _Please_!"

A sharp smack to her face sent her head flying to one side and she watched in horror as Bellatrix readied the dagger over the crease in her arm.

"I think 'unworthy' fits best, don't you?"

And the bitch bared her teeth again in clear amusement, continuing to speak even though Hermione couldn't hear anything for the ringing in her ears. It wasn't until Draco was standing next to them, yelling something loudly over the noise that she realized it was her that was making the noise. Her that was screaming.

"Granger, stop screaming now!" Draco's command rang throughout the room as the magic of the collar shut down her vocal cords.

"That's right, you stupid bitch. Listen to your masters." Hermione convulsed in fear as Bellatrix leered over her.

"You would do well to remember that yourself, Bellatrix," Draco said coldly. The tone of his voice had Bellatrix looking up in surprise and outrage. "Get off of her. Now."

"Draco," Bellatrix warned, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I said get. Up. Now."

In full on pout-mode, Bellatrix stood and crossed the room, glaring angrily at Draco as he stared right back.

"If you ever touch what belongs to me again without my permission you will be ordered to leave this place, do you understand?"

"If she had done what was asked of her—"

"Do you understand?" That too-cold commanding voice of his sent Hermione quivering into the carpet. She didn't see what Bellatrix's response was, but it must have been placating because Draco's body relaxed just slightly and he growled low in his throat. "Good. And for your information, she was nearly finished. I don't want to see you harassing her again, Aunt Bella, or you can clean your own fucking room."

" Your defense of her surprises me, Draco. Why defend the Mudlood?"

"Does it matter? I have supreme rule over this house and you will obey me or you will suffer the consequences."

"Oh, now darling." Hermione quaked again at the tone of Bellatrix's voice. Slippery soft and full of unbridled hate and honest threat. "Do not threaten me."

Draco had a sharp retort, Hermione was sure, but Bellatrix continued before he could voice it.

"Get that disgusting Mudblood out of here. If I see her near my room again I will kill her." New tears stole down her cheeks as she watched Bellatrix's boots stomp to the door. Both Hermione and Draco flinched as Bellatrix slammed the door shut behind her.

"Goddamnit, Granger." She lay absolutely still, choking back her sobs as Draco sank to his knees beside her. "I told you to hurry."

His tender voice was back and his eyes spoke of his regret, but Hermione turned her face away when he reached out to stroke her cheek. Twenty minutes ago he had used his power over her to force her to stay in this dangerous room and she had nearly become a victim to Bellatrix _again_ because of it. And now he was going to act like it caused him great pain?

No. She wasn't going to fall for it anymore.

His sigh of sadness turned her stomach. Could he be any more mercurial?

"Hermione," he whispered, his fingers feathering over her face. "I'm sorry. I know what you must be thinking. I swear I wouldn't have treated you that way if Bellatrix hadn't been listening. I shouldn't have left you alone, and I'm sorry. I tried to head her off, really I did." She shuddered under his touch. "This should never have happened. I don't want you in here ever again."

"If that is part of my duties than I must do it," she whispered. If she was going to be forced to be a slave, then she would do everything that was asked of her, no matter how scary or mundane. If Draco wanted to be so confusing, then he could just go stuff it and spare her feelings. She meant nothing to him either way.

"Granger," he chastised softly, but didn't argue with her. "I'm sorry," he said again, smoothing her hair back. "I shouldn't have left you alone." He sighed again. "Come on, I want to show you the rest of your duties, okay?"

Hermione nodded once and slowly sat up. The adrenalin rush she had received was dying down and it left her feeling dizzy.

"She didn't hurt you, did she?" She shook her head and then climbed to her feet. The relief on Draco's face made her stomach clench. Jesus Christ, what was he playing at? "I'm sorry, Granger. Really I am." She didn't answer him other than to tilt her head in acceptance. He frowned slightly but then strode to the door and held it open for her. "Come on now. Just a few more things I need to brief you on."

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**A/N: Gah, this chapter is insane. My apologies guys. But I want to thank all of you again for reading Dark Passion Play! Thanks to The Raven's Sight, SugarSweet82, frangipanilover, Guest (anon), Twizard2013, and Nia Hazlitt for reviewing! You are all amazing! Also thanks to realistic-historic-futuristic, .98, fragipanilover, isabellasvl, supernatural13, perripotter, SunLover92, and catsgotmytongue for follwing DPP! Thanks to Mistress Melody, henben, supernatural13, and fitzy129 for favoriting DPP, and thanks to MelodicHodgePodge890, and supernatural13 for following me as an author and favoriting me as an author. You all are so amazing and I live off your enthusiasm! **

**Again, I'm sorry about the insaneness of this chapter. It is also the last chapter that I have completely written, so updates may not be as consistent, but I will do my best :). Hopefully there will be an update again next week! Thanks again!**


	5. Shepherd's Pie and Wanton Street

**Chapter 5: Shepherd's Pie and Wanton Street**

Hermione sighed deeply and rested her head on the side of the tub. Her body ached even though she had done nothing strenuous that day. Just being around Malfoy made her tense and his constant mood swings set her on edge. After several hours of following him around and having him watch her while she worked had taken its toll on her and this was the first moment she had been able to relax since he had come to her that morning.

As she soaked in the marble bath she thought about the day, of what was expected of her, and, most of all, of the man who had taught her.

Her chores list was not long. Malfoy had told her that when she awoke she was to fetch his breakfast from the kitchens and bring it to his rooms. Then she was to change the towels in the bathroom and then immediately tend to Bellatrix's room and leave as soon as possible. He had even told her to only go once or twice a week, but she intended to do her job correctly and would tend to it every day regardless of his warnings.

When she was finished with Bellatrix's things, she was to return to Malfoy's chambers, make his bed, and dispose of his breakfast tray.

After that he told her she was free to roam about the house as she wished, but to keep the rooms she entered tidy and clean. And to stay hidden. Always hidden. Especially from the Master Malfoy.

Hermione sighed. She was not afraid of Lucius. Not like she was of Bellatrix or of snatchers and other death eaters. She didn't understand why the Malfoy family had chosen to enslave her if they could not stand the sight of her. Indeed, wanted to hurt her just for existing. It didn't make sense. And having to actively avoid a man who hated himself just as much as he hated her was stupid. She would do as Malfoy asked only because he had commanded it of her, but she was not afraid of Lucius.

Sighing again Hermione turned over onto her stomach and gazed out the window at the afternoon sun. She was told that she was to come when Malfoy called and she was to bring him lunch and dinner, no matter where in the manor he might be.

Once a week she was to do her master's laundry, press and iron it, and return it to his wardrobe. On special occasions she was to make sure his dress robes here impeccable, his boots were shined, and his cufflinks were gleaming. She was to tend to Malfoy like he was a king and she his doting servant.

Not that he said that to her, or anything. But she understood that as her duty. To treat him like he was royalty and worship his mercifulness that had kept him from killing her.

Yes. She would do that, and she would bide her time until she could escape. Because she would escape. Not today or tomorrow, but someday.

Hermione flipped again and splayed her hand at the ceiling. Even though she would attempt an escape eventually, she did not think she would be totally miserable here.

When her hand had continued to bleed, Malfoy had noticed and stopped her in the middle of the hallway.

"Granger, you're bleeding." He had grabbed her hand and twisted it so that her palm was facing upwards.

"It's fine," she had replied softly, attempting to pull away. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing. Just, hold still a moment." He had grabbed her fingers again, twisted her palm, and then laid his wand over her wound. "_Sanvulnia_." She had felt her skin begin to knit back together and watched Malfoy as he examined her hand carefully. "That should do it."

She was quick to extract her hand and only muttered a soft thank you.

"Granger." She had turned to him again, feeling uncomfortable. Her hand had not needed healing that badly. He looked at her with a soft but commanding expression. "If you ever are hurt, come to me and I will heal you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she had answered him automatically, and she felt the magic of the collar run down her spine. He had nodded thoughtfully and then they had continued on their way. Little conversation had passed between them and Hermione had done what she was told to do and left for her room as soon as she was able to.

Now that she had time to think about it, she was worried about the magic that coursed through her every time Malfoy voiced a command in which she was to always follow. It was a new feeling, and one she did not like. He had told her that the collar would not hurt her, and it did not sting, but it was not pleasant either. It worried her. Very much. If she thought it would do any good, she would talk to Malfoy about it, but she doubted he would remove it. Sure, he had been showing her a good amount of compassion, but nothing would change his need to have control over her.

It was almost sad to think this, but as she toweled off and redressed she shook it from her head. She did not care what he did or what he thought. She only wanted to do what he asked until she could escape or beg for her release; whichever came first.

Once she had dressed in a simple shift she retired to her bed for a nap; and, upon waking to serve Malfoy lunch, found a new pair of shoes by the foot of her bed. They were exactly her size.

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The kitchens were crowded with dozens of House Elves. Hermione was surprised that so many of them could fit in the small area, but they moved like a well-oiled machine, sliding between each other to tend to their chores.

She watched them work for several moments before she was suddenly on her knees and a small creature was sprawled over her back.

"Oh, so sorry, Miss!" the little elf squeaked. Hermione picked herself up and turned towards the elf. "Mitches didn't see you, Miss!"

"Oh, no! Pardon me!" She helped the elf to its feet. "It was my fault, are you okay?"

"Of courses, Miss!" The little elf peered up at her with wide brown eyes. "Is Miss needing something?"

"Um, yes. I am supposed to bring Master Draco his lunch; he said it would be prepared for him?"

"Yes, yes! Master said that you would be coming, Miss! It is right here!" She followed closely behind him as the little elf pattered through the kitchen, scarcely avoiding a collision of six elves laden with heavy silver trays.

The counters were covered with all manner of pans and food—fruit and an assortment of cheeses, as well as several different pastries. Another elf was taking a steaming tray of pies out of the oven and Hermione's mouth watered at the smell of cherries that wafted towards her.

"Is there a party going on, or something?" she asked, taken aback by the amount of food being prepared.

"Not today, Miss," Mitches squeaked.

"Not today?" Hermione repeated, picking up the tray with Draco's lunch on it before the poor elf could.

"No, Miss. Not today, Miss. For Friday, Miss," another elf, hefting a watermelon over her head, told her matter-of-factly.

"There is going to be a party on Friday?" That was only three days away!

"Yes, Miss," Mitches squeaked, tugging on her pant legs. She followed him to the door, evading the other elves in an unsteady dance. "Master Lucius has dinner parties every Friday, Miss."

"Okay." It was all that she could say in her panic. Not only was she trapped in the Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix Lestrange, but she would have to entertain a dinner party of Death Eaters every Friday? She honestly didn't think that she would be able to survive in this world if this was her fate. She may as well just kill herself now.

"We is sorry, Miss," Mitches broke her out of her thoughts. "But we must asks you to leave, now. Much is to be done to prepare for the party."

She hummed in distracted agreement, thanked the elves for helping her, and then swiftly had the door shut in her face. She sighed, bowing her head, thinking of her eminent death. This was going to lead to a horrific end for her.

Shaking her head she straightened, adjusting the weight of the tray in her hands. No. She was Hermione Fucking Granger and she was a survivor, damn it. She would serve the Malfoy bastards and she would bide her time until she could escape. Then, on her way out, she would take out as many people out as she was able to. And if she died? Well. She'd still take out everyone and die trying.

Draco's study was attached to his rooms on the third floor. She entered through his bedroom, swiftly glancing over the green bedding, the silver detailing on the mahogany furniture. There was a large marble fireplace on one wall, surrounded by several mahogany and silk chairs and one long couch. She wondered if he often entertained his guests in his bedchamber, but she tried not to dwell on it. That was his private matter.

There were three doors on the right wall. The first was completely open, a green-marble bathroom glittering in the sunlight. The second was half-open—she could see his clothes disappearing into a deep closet.

The third was his study.

She balanced the tray on her hip and gently knocked on the door.

"Enter," was the sharp command that reached her. Swallowing back her nerves she did as she was told.

This room was not much different from his bedroom, except that the carpet was gray and the silver-painted walls reflected light, unlike the green in the other room. A smaller fireplace decorated the center of the left wall, a bay window on either side of it. The opposite wall to the door was a bookshelf, tastefully decorated with statuettes—from his trips abroad, she was sure.

Draco himself was seated at the large desk, placed at an angle so that his back was to the corner and that he had a clear view of both the bedroom and hallway entrances. The surface was cluttered with quills and paperwork, a tall stack of books at one corner, an ancient typewriter on the other.

He glanced up from the parchment he was writing on when she came through the door. She was nearly unarmed by the smile he gave her and the gentle, "Granger," in greeting.

She curtsied in as dignified a manner as she was able to and said, "Master Malfoy," in return. He made a small sound of annoyance as she deposited the tray in front of him.

"Don't call me that," he said. She kept her eyes on the desk, waiting for his next instructions. "Only call me Malfoy or Draco. Unless you are in front of anyone else in this house, then you call me Master. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said quietly. He made that same sound of irritation, but he didn't protest the replacement of his name.

He started in on his food, his long-fingered, slender hands picking up his fork and knife to cut his shepherd's pie. She stood there for some time, the only noise coming from Draco's knife and fork scraping against the plate and his quiet chewing.

"Granger," he said suddenly, carefully setting his silverware on his plate. "Pour me a glass of brandy." She glanced up at him only to be caught by his silver gaze. "Please."

She swallowed thickly. There was something in his eyes, an intense emotion that she couldn't quite name, that made her heart beat faster and adrenalin to spike her blood. It might have had something to with the way he was peering up at her through his eyelashes, or that, despite being a nasty git, a Death Eater to boot, and a masochistic bastard, he was incredibly handsome. The sharp planes of his face were visible under a light dusting of blonde scruff and, if she were being completely honest with herself, it added a certain roughness to his appearance that was rather pleasing to the eye.

Ashamed of the attraction she felt towards him, she quickly crossed the room to the bookcase, shuffling decanters of alcohol until she found the honey-colored drink. She poured half a snifter full and carefully carried it back to the desk, setting it before her master. He intercepted her hand half way, his fingers brushing hers as he took the glass from her hand.

"Thank you," he said softly. She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept her gaze firmly on the desk. "Sit down, Granger," he told her. "Pick a book, if you'd like."

She nodded once and crossed again to the book case, picking a book at random and retreating to a soft-looking settee. She perched on the edge of it and opened the book: _Wanton Street_ by Ivy Doom. She raised an eyebrow to herself, turning the book over to read a disturbingly sexual description on the back. Well, who knew? Draco Malfoy was into naughty smut books. She almost laughed out loud, but she swallowed it just in time, unfortunately letting out a little hiccough in her mirth.

"What's so funny?" She started at Draco's voice, nearly dropping the book as she jerked her gaze to meet his. He had one of his patrician eyebrows raised, a sincerely curious look on his face.

"Nothing," she said quietly, opening the book and burying her nose in it.

"Which book did you decide on?" She glanced up again, surprised to see him settled into the chair opposite her. He had a warm chocolate brownie in his hand and he was bent forward, his elbows on his knees. "_Wanton Street_?" He laughed. It was a warm sound.

"I'm sure you're wonder why on earth that is on my bookshelf." He chuckled, biting off a bit of the brownie. "Honestly, when I picked up Parkinson and Daphne's old things, I asked them to include books. You'll have to tell me if that's any good."

In normal circumstances, if this were not Draco Malfoy and if he did not have complete control over her, she might have laughed, too. But all she could do was stare at him, wide eyed and confused.

He sighed sadly, breaking off a bit of the brownie and holding it out to her.

"Here," he said. "You need this more than I do."

"No thank you." She turned her face away from him.

"Granger." The warning in his voice was gentle but it made her look at him. He lifted the bit of brownie and she cautiously took it from him, quickly chewing and swallowing so that he could stop _staring_.

"Good girl," he praised, finishing the last of his share. He gave her a small smile, then returned to his desk. "You are welcome to any of my books, Granger. If there is nothing to your fancy, let me know and I will get it for you."

"Thank you," she whispered in return. Despite her fear of him—of him abusing the power he had over her—she appreciated his kindness. She still wasn't sure whether it was sincere, but, for whatever it was worth, she wasn't suffering nearly as much as she could have been—as she should have been.

She wasn't sure how long she was there, reading that awful smutty book (which, embarrassingly, made her blush like a virgin and press her legs together as the uncomfortable build-up of unreleased need made her squirm on the settee. Discomfited, she closed the book and rose.

"Mas—" She stopped herself.

"May I take care of your lunch, sir?"

Draco looked up from the forms he was filling out and smiled softly.

"Yes, thank you," he said. She carefully picked up the tray, pausing as he continued to speak. "Granger, I usually take my tea at 3:30, but I have several appointments to meet today and I am having dinner with my family this evening. I want you to take that book, and any others you want, and return to your room. At five o'clock you may go eat in the kitchen, or take your food back to your room. Then you are to stay in your room until the morning. I will come get you and we will have breakfast on the veranda."

"Ok." She left quickly, practically running to the kitchen to deposit the tray. She was entirely taken aback by this set of instructions. He wanted to eat breakfast with her? Well, that would be interesting indeed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._  
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**Ok, so I won't make excuses except to say that life got in the way and I lost a bit of inspiration. So, now that summer has begun, I am hoping to write more. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I, of course, would like to thank everyone who has favorited this story and my author profile, as well as everyone who reviewed. As previously, I promise to read and review something written by all of my reviewers. I'm a bit behind, but I am working on fulfilling that promise. :)**

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	6. It's The Fear

**Chapter 6: It's The Fear**

The next few days went smoothly. Hermione had breakfast with Draco on the veranda in the morning where they ate in awkward silence, then she did her chores—with no run-ins with Bellatrix—and spent the remainder of her day in her own room, finishing _Wanton Street_ and a number of magical theory books in her free time.

Draco made her stay in his study while he ate his lunch and forced her to share his dessert. By Friday afternoon, she'd finally accepted that this was routine and she was just going to have to let him feed her.

"Listen," he said, nodding approvingly as she chewed on the corner of his pasty. His face melted into a frown, deep lines grooving into his forehead. "I know that we haven't discussed this, but I don't want you to leave your rooms this evening. I will have your dinner sent to you, but you are to remain in your rooms until morning."

"Yes, of course, Master." His sharp, reprimanding look made her drop her gaze. But he didn't say anything about it, rising and crossing to his desk before he turned around and handed her a pile of books.

"I found a couple of books in Diagon Alley today and I thought you might enjoy them." She glanced at the top cover, wondering what he must be playing at with all of these gifts. "If anyone comes to your rooms and it is not me, do not open the door. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Hermione answered.

"I don't care what they say to you, do not open the door."

"I won't."

"Good. Now go."

She complied immediately, returning to her room where she nearly dropped the books because the room looked entirely different. Somewhere between her morning chores and now, her room had not only been repainted a deep, cherry red, but all of her furniture had been switched out for dark-wooded replacements. A tall vase of pink orchids rested on the vanity next to the intricately-carved armoire, and her simple bed had been turned into a four-poster with matching red hangings and coverlet.

He was so confusing. He hadn't had any angry outbursts at her since Bellatrix had attacked her, but his pleasantness scared her. She knew that it couldn't possibly be real. She was his hostage, his slave, and he could behave in any manner towards her. Why he was being nice, she didn't know. It worried her, but she tried not to dwell on it. It would only drive her insane.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She was woken up out of a dead sleep at three in the morning.

"Grajer," someone slurred. "Grajer, open th door."

She swallowed, then cautiously got out of bed and approached the door.

"Grajer, open up."

"Malfoy?" she called quietly.

"'s me. Open th door."

She did as she was told and Draco fell through the door, followed by two other boys. Ones she recognized.

"Thersh sh ish," Draco grinned up at her, three sheets to the wind and reeking of alcohol. "Dinn't I tell you?"

"Master Malfoy," she said, instinct driving her to help him to his feet. "I—what are you doing here?"

"Proof," he breathed on her, leering down at her and her poor excuse for a nightgown. "Shee? Told you sh was alive."

She stared up at him, and then at his two companions with wide eyes.

"You shure did," Theodore Nott laughed, reaching out a hand to pull on her hair. She gasped as Draco clutched her to his side.

"Don't touch her," he snarled. Theo raised an eyebrow and then fell back into the hall, giggling.

"I'll be damned," Blaise Zabini swore, peering at her with a blood-shot gaze. He blinked several times as if he couldn't see straight and then grinned. "Sh ish alive!"

"Grajer," Draco sighed. "I need you to—to come to my room."

If she could have refused, she would have. This did _not_ seem like something she should be getting involved in. Maybe—and _only_ maybe—if it was just Draco she might be able to handle it. But with him _and_ Nott, _and_ Zabini? It spelled trouble.

"A-are you sure, Malfoy? You told me to only open the door if it was you."

"Yesh. It ish me. I'm Malfoy."

She stared at him—helpless. He was drunk as a fucking skunk. What was she to do?

"Ok," she said quietly. That was all that she could say, really. There was no point in arguing.

She helped the three of them hobble back to Draco's rooms where Theo and Blaise threw themselves on the couches by the fireplace.

"Draco," Zabini sighed. "Light a fire."

"Light your own goddamn fire," Draco swore back, leaning heavily on Hermione's small frame. He sighed into her hair as she deposited him on his bed. "Grajer, will you light ush a fire?"

"Yes, Malfoy." Once she was sure that Draco wasn't going to fall off the side of the bed she lit a fire in the grate retreated to a corner. She didn't feel comfortable being in this room with three drunk men who could easily overpower her. She hoped that Draco was lucid enough to protect her if his friends suddenly went rabid, but he was just as dangerous.

"Grajer." Draco had managed to slink across the room and was settled into one of the chairs. "Come here," he ordered, patting his knee. Disgusted, she tried to resist the magic. She would not become some victim simply because she was not allowed to fight him.

Draco pulled her down into his lap as she neared.

"Lucky bashtard," Theo snarked. He and Zabini were already draped all over each other. Zabini was snoring.

"That I am," Draco sighed, looking up at her. The firelight reflected in his pure blue eyes and Hermione was struck again by how handsome he was. "Grajer, I want you to shtay."

"You want me to stay?" she squeaked. She didn't feel comfortable with that. Even though Draco's friends were now fast asleep, that didn't mean that they would remain that way for long.

"Yesh. Shtay." She opened her mouth to convince him to let her return to her room, but the sincere request in his eyes stayed her tongue. He reached up a hand and feathered a touch across her cheek, his eyes dancing between hers and her lips before he leaned forward.

She thought that he was going to kiss her and, unsure what to do, she went absolutely still. But his head lolled onto her shoulder and he was snoring in her ear before she had to figure out how to get out of it.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and she breathed heavily, still perched on Draco's lap. She took some time to gather her thoughts before carefully easing him back into the chair and withdrawing to the opposite side of the room.

Sighing, she slid to the floor and pressed her knees to her chest, settling in for a long night.

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"Granger, what are you doing here?"

Hermione startled awake as she was unceremoniously pulled to her feet. Draco gave her a sharp look and dragged her out of the door.

"I told you to stay in your room and to not open the door."

"With all due respect, Malfoy, but you said to not open the door unless it was you. You came here last night and demanded that I take care of you. I could not refuse." She was impressed with herself for being so coherent, but Draco was not amused.

"Goddamn it," he swore, shoving the door to her room open and practically throwing her through in. She stumbled into the middle of the room and immediately kneeled before him. She hoped that by showing submissiveness to him he would be gentle with her.

Draco sighed and closed the door. She watched from under her lashes as he scrubbed his face with his hands and breathed out heavily.

"Please get up, Granger."

She quickly complied.

"Next time I come to you in a drunken stupor and I have company, do not open the door."

"Yes, Master." She bowed her head in acceptance of this new command.

"I told you not to call me that. Sit down." He forced her onto the edge of the bed and then took her chin between his fingers. His eyes moved over her face, those same lines of concern that she'd observed a few days earlier marring his features. "I did not hurt you, did I?"

"No," she answered. His eyes bored into her, molten silver in the early morning light.

"I am sorry that I dragged you out of bed at such a ridiculous hour." His thumb smoothed across her jaw and then he let her go. "I will see you for lunch, Granger."

She stared after him long after he had left and closed the door. Then she turned into her pillow and screamed.

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When she stumbled into Bellatrix's room half an hour later, it was to discover a fully inhabited room. Bellatrix was bent over the desk and a man Hermione didn't recognized was pounding away at her. She gasped and then whirled away from the scene.

But she'd met Bellatrix's eyes before she'd escaped.

Terrified, Hermione hurried down the hall, desperate to put space between them and to purge that memory from her mind.

She was nearing her room—mere feet away—when she was suddenly yanked to a stop by her hair.

"Why you sneaky bitch," Bellatrix hissed in her ear. "Thought you'd spy on me, did you? Well, we can't have that. Besides," her voice turned gleeful as she began dragging Hermione down the stairs. "I promised my nephew that I would kill you the next time I saw you in my room. I don't break my promises."

"No, please," Hermione begged, struggling to stay upright as Bellatrix led her to the entry way. "I didn't mean to."

"A bit late for that, I'm afraid."

She let out a small shriek as Bellatrix shoved her down the final flight of stairs. Hermione tumbled down them, landing in a heap on the marble floor. She groaned in pain, doing her best to crawl towards the door. Maybe if she could just get outside, maybe she could get away. She couldn't leave the grounds, but anywhere would be better than on the floor of the atrium.

"Where do you think you're going, bitch?"

Hermione gasped as Bellatrix yanked her head back. From the corner of her eye she could see Bellatrix's weapon of choice—the long dagger that had haunted many of her dreams.

"Wait," she begged, struggling against Bellatrix's hold. "Wait, wait—_Please_!" In her panic, her voice rose several octaves—and decibels—as her attacker pressed the cool edge of the blade to her throat. Great sobs wracked her body. She realized this was the end. Really the end. She was going to die as less than a human at the hands of this insane woman.

Bellatrix breathed against Hermione's neck. She could feel Bellatrix's smile, felt the sharp cut of the blade—

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Bellatrix froze; Hermione felt her frown, heard her growl of anger.

"I promised you, nephew," she sang, pressing the blade deeper into Hermione's throat. Blood raced over her skin.

"I don't care what you promised. Release her immediately. I told you never to touch what's mine again."

Annoyed, Bellatrix drew her knife away, slicing deeper before she was unceremoniously thrown to the floor. She landed in a heap and sobbed into the skirt of her dress. She wasn't sure what upset her more: the horror of her almost death, the relief of remaining alive, or the despair of being so deeply indebted to Malfoy.

Bent in on herself, Hermione barely heard the argument occurring over her. She sobbed harder, wishing she was at home. At the Burrow or even in Australia with her parents. She wanted Ron to hold her and for Harry to smile at her. She wanted to be free, away from this awful place.

She screamed when the hand appeared on her shoulder.

"Shhh, Granger." Draco's soft voice quieted her cries, but she continued to sob into her skirt. This was worse than when she'd been tortured on the drawing room floor. Living in perpetual fear was horrible.

"Granger?" She resisted Draco's attempts to unfold her from her ball of protection, but he disarmed her yet again by whispering her given name. "Hermione, come on, love." She fell apart at the surprise, landing spread-eagle on the marble floor.

Draco carefully helped her to roll over and he examined her throat. His face was pale and creased with worry, his fingers dancing over her neck. When he pulled away they were covered in blood.

"Relax," he soothed when she began to breathe heavily. "It's going to be okay."

With a practiced hand he drew his wand and gently touched her wound, whispering incantations all the while. Her skin burned and itched while he healed her—then there was blissful relief. Draco waved his wand once more to remove the blood.

He frowned, running his finger over her throat.

"It's going to be a scar." He sighed, then met her watery gaze. "Come on." He lifted her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs. She hid her face into the collar of his shirt, inhaling his spicy cologne. For some reason, it calmed her.

Draco carried her back to his room—not her own, which she wished he had done. He put her down on his bed and then leaned over her. He turned the bedside lamp on, tilting her head so that he could see her throat better.

"Hold on a moment," he said, rising. "Don't move."

She swallowed thickly, relieved to be alone, if only for a moment. She had mistakenly allowed herself to feel comfortable in this house. Mistakenly allowed herself to feel comfortable around Draco. Sure, he had not hurt her purposefully—and when she was hurt, he healed her as fast as he was able to. Regardless, the Malfoys and their relatives were highly dangerous.

Merlin, she just wanted to go home. Back to when life was easy and the only evil she had to face was not knowing every spell in her school books like the back of her hand. She turned onto her side and hid her face into one of Draco's pillows. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She felt the side of the bed dip as Draco sat down next to her. She shivered when he touched her—innocent as it was.

"Hermione, let me see your throat." She neither answered nor rolled over. She just wanted to be left alone. "Hermione."

She didn't resist as he brushed her hair away from her neck, pried her hands out of the coverlet and half pinned her down to the bed. She latched her eyes onto his chest, avoiding his gaze as he peered down at her.

"Listen," he said after she flinched away from his gentle hands. "I'm just going to put this cream on your scar. It should make most of it fade." He smoothed her hair back from her face, inadvertently meeting her eyes. "I promise that I won't hurt you. Not ever."

Emboldened by her lack of response, he smeared the scar cream across the wound.

"It might take a couple of applications, but it should be gone in a few days." A thin smile graced his features.

"I know you're scared, but I promise no one in this house will harm you again." He sighed when she only continued to stare. "I'm going to alter the spell on your collar." His expression was sincere as he shifted to his feet. "I'll do that first thing after dinner. Right now I want you to rest."

She managed a small nod and then shut her eyes. She heard Draco leave and she curled into herself once more, finding solace in silk bedding.

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After her latest confrontation, Hermione was banned from going near Bellatrix and anything to do with her or her belongings. Draco had kicked Bellatrix out the Manor, but he warned her that she would be back and there wasn't much that he could do about it.

In all honesty, Hermione didn't care. As long as she was able to avoid Bellatrix, she would do it happily. Since Draco seemed to hold some obscene amount of power over everyone, she believed him when he assured her that she would not be bothered by his insane aunt again.

It was several days before she was feeling better. She wasn't in pain or anything, but she was physically ill with the thought of what could have happened if Draco hadn't been there. She managed to bring him his lunch and dinner—it was the least that she could do—but she could barely drag herself out of bed without great motivation. Draco visited her every couple of hours and, as had become habit, he shared his dessert with her. He had even taken having two of everything put on the tray she brought him.

In a way it was sweet, but, like most things Draco did, it confused her. He seemed to be sincere in his regard for her. He teased her often and always had some little present to give her. She didn't know why. She was a lowly mudblood—his personal servant. But he treated her as if she was some little tart he was trying to impress by being charming.

And damn him, it was working.

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**A/N: Hey everyone, thank you all so much for your attention over the past week! I am glad Dark Passion Play has been so successful so far. I am still looking for a beta and perhaps a confidant to bounce ideas off of. If anyone is interested, please let me know! Now on to the thank yous:**

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**Your support is what drives me to write, everyone. You are so wonderful and my offer still stands, _anyone who reviews Dark Passion Play will have one of their stories read and reviewed by me :)_**


	7. Cursed

**A/N: okay, I don't usually throw notes up before my chapters, but I realize that things have been pretty dry between our two main characters. Almost 20,000 words in and there isn't anything substantial. I can assure you that that will be changing very soon, and things will get a lot darker, too. This is rated M for a reason, and not just for the (inevitable) sex. So, just bear with me for a couple more chapters and then we can get down to the real action. I am so glad that you all have liked DPP up until this point and I hope that you continue to enjoy it :)**

**Chapter 7: Cursed**

"You know," Draco said, his mouth full of a cucumber sandwich. For a moment he looked so much like Ron that she almost teared up a bit at the nostalgia. "I've given you all of those books and you've burned through them like a demon." Merlin, even the teasing affection that accompanied his words was the same.

"Yes," she answered softly. "They have been wonderful."

"Tell me about them."

"Hmm?" She swallowed her own bite of cucumber sandwich and tossed him a confused look.

"Tell me about your books."

"Which one?"

"Any of them." He leaned his elbows on the desk, folded his hands, and rested his chin on his interlocked fingers. His curiosity was honest as he tilted his head and gave her a blinding smile.

Embarrassed at his scrutiny, Hermione felt her cheeks heat and she looked down into her lap, chuckling a bit. Why? Why, oh why did she turn into a blithering idiot in front of him?

"Um, well, I rather enjoyed Carrion's book."

"The one about werewolves?"

"Mmhmm."

"What did you think about the Contingency Theory?"

She was pleasantly surprised at the direction their conversation had taken. They had stayed in his office far later than normal, discussing minority laws and conspiracy theories. He was surprisingly open minded—the complete opposite of the bigoted git he had been in school—and she was finding herself falling into an (easy, almost) friendship with him. Even though he still did awful things, she found it difficult to remember that when he was so kind to her.

It had been almost three months since her arrival and, after Bellatrix had been banned from the manor, she had rarely had contact with anyone outside of Draco and the house-elves. Nott and Zabini attended all of the Malfoys dinner parties and, though Draco made sure to never allow a repeat of the first drunken escapade, Hermione sometimes caught glimpses of them as they left the next morning.

She laughed a little as he went off on another tangent, gesturing with a shortbread cookie. She really never had a chance. Even though he had been such a pretentious snob in school, he was awfully handsome and really rather charming. His real smile—unguarded and the one she was honored to be graced with on a regular basis—was positively breath taking. He grinned at her, talking all the while. Cookie crumbs were caught in the corner of his mouth. It was distracting, because all she wanted to do was lean across the desk and wipe them away for him. Or kiss them away. Whichever she got away with first.

No. That was so wrong of her. This was Draco Malfoy for fuck's sake. He was a known killer. He had murdered Dumbledore and he was extremely high up in Voldemort's favor. Not to mention she was still a mudblood and he was still a pure-blooded prince. Voldemort had won and she had no life in the wizarding world now. She didn't even have a wand. What sort of life could she live without magic?

No. There was no place in this world for her. _Especially_ with Draco Malfoy.

"Granger?"

She started at the sound of her name.

"Hmm?" she replied, moving her hazy gaze back to Draco's face. He was frowning and he rose, rounded the desk.

She couldn't take her eyes off of him—Merlin and Morgana, he was so beautiful. In gray trousers, white shirtsleeves, and brown suspenders, he was the epitome of a '50s high roller. And he was so graceful, hardly making a sound as he moved around the desk.

"You suddenly look unwell. Are you alright?"

She half-smiled and nodded. No, she wasn't really alright, but she couldn't very well tell him.

"Granger, I—" He broke off as a knock resounded through the study.

"Draco?" The door opened without further delay and Hermione shot to her feet as Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the doorway. "Honey, we have to go."

"Shit," Draco swore, glancing at his watch and then hurrying back to his side of the desk and retrieving his suit jacket. Though she wanted to leave immediately, she was stuck in the cool gaze of the Malfoy matron.

"Granger," Draco barked. Her eyes shot to him for only a moment before returning to Narcissa.

There was so much in that woman's eyes. Questions abounded but mostly it was a warning: _stay away from my son_. She couldn't possibly know what Hermione was thinking but, then again, Narcissa had magic and Hermione did not.

"Granger," Draco said again, firmly taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Go back to your room and don't leave this floor. Mitches will bring you your food."

His eyes bore into her, firm, like his hands, but gentle and…affectionate.

"Yes, Master." Annoyance flashed across his face, but he recovered quickly.

"I will be back in time for breakfast."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He wasn't back for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. In fact, Draco didn't return to the manor for almost a week. Hermione was ridiculously bored for over three days. Although she loved reading—and indeed she had read most of Malfoy's books—she was tired of sitting.

So she had scrubbed Malfoy's bathroom from top to bottom, had cleaned every window on the third floor, and polished every mirror until they gleamed. She organized Draco's closet by type and color; coordinated his ties to match his suit jackets.

She'd stripped his bed, washed his sheets, and remade it six times. Really it was for a lack of better things to do.

She had alphabetized his bookshelf, cleaned the floos, and paced a whole awful lot.

She was just venturing back into his study to tidy the desk when his bedroom door burst open behind her. A whole slew of people came pouring into the room, a stretcher bearing the Malfoy heir floating between them.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. His chest was crisscrossed with bandages, some of them stained red with blood. Another bandage rounded his head, shielding his right eye from her sight. His blonde hair, usually so impeccable, was mused from the bandage and from whatever had placed him in such a horrible condition. Both of his hands were bandaged and his trousers were torn, revealing a bandaged leg.

She clapped a hand against her mouth to stifle her horror. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and her eyes burned. This could not be happening.

"But he'll be okay?" Narcissa cried, hanging off the arm of a healer.

"There is no guarantee, Mrs. Malfoy, but I am optimistic."

"You are doing all that you can?" At Lucius' voice, Hermione whirled back into the study and pressed her body to the wall. She was not so afraid of Lucius, but she did not want to be caught eavesdropping where she was not wanted.

"If his wounds do not heal in the next couple of days, then there is little hope for him. However," here the healer paused. She peaked around the door frame to see the healer peeling back one of the bandages. "As you can see, they are already starting to close. I do not foresee any problems in the remainder of his recovery." The healer replaced the bandage and waved his wand over Draco's chest. "We have done all that we are able to do for now. I will be back in the morning."

"Of course," Narcissa said. She turned to the other people gathered in the room. Hermione recognized Nott and Zabini, both looking thoroughly disheveled. Their clothing was torn and Nott had a cut on both of his cheeks; Zabini had one over his eye. Both had their wands clutched in their hand. A few other men and women, Nott and Zabini's parents, most likely, crowded near the door. "Um," she looked back to Draco and then put a hand on both Nott and Zabini's shoulder to steer them towards the hallway. "Let's just let him rest." She held a hand out to her husband. "Lucius."

The Malfoy patriarch took his wife's hand and led the company out of the room.

"We're going to stay awhile," Zabini said, stepping out of the doorway. "Just want to make sure he's okay."

"Alright, boys," Narcissa said. Even she looked messier than usual—exhausted and worried.

Hermione let out a slow breath as the door closed behind them. If she had been alone, she might have rushed across the room to check Draco's health for herself. But, with Nott and Zabini standing sentinel over his bedside, there was no possible way for her to do that.

"What are we going to do?" Nott asked, leaning against a bedpost. "We can't do this without Draco."

"He's going to be fine." Zabini didn't sound convinced. He threw himself into a chair beside Draco's bed and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"You don't know that! I mean, he turned his wand—"

"Hermione?" Draco's voice melted through the room and Nott stopped talking immediately to rush towards his friend. It did not appear that either of his friends had realized that he had said her name, but Hermione heard it even from the other room.

"Draco? You gave us quite a scare, mate." Nott leaned over him, brushing back his hair.

"Hermione," Draco said again, stronger. "Where is Hermione?"

"I don't know," Nott said.

"Find her," Draco sighed, falling back into his pillows. "Wait, wait." He waved a hand in Zabini's direction as he moved to get out of the chair. "She has to come. Granger!" His call was weak, but she felt the magic in the collar move down her spine. "Hermione, come!"

She took a deep breath before doing as she was told. Nott and Zabini moved away from the bed as she approached. Both of them bowed their heads in a move that usually deemed respect but that she was sure only shielded their disapproving looks.

"Hermione?" Draco's voice was very weak as he turned his head and opened his one eye to peer up at her. His mouth twisted into something that resembled a smile and he reached out one of his bandaged hands toward her. "There you are," he sighed. He took her fingers in his when she neared and pulled her towards him. "Help me sit up a bit."

He groaned in pain when she tried to help him, and, only after being directly ordered to do so, did she fully set him back against the pillows. He grimaced at her, then exchanged a look with his friends.

"Leave us," he said. She thought he was speaking to her, but when she made to move away he crushed her hand in an iron grip. "There's brandy in my study."

Nott and Zabini left with no protest. She and Draco were left alone.

"Hey," he said quietly. His tight hold on her hand loosened and his thumb rubbed over her knuckles.

"Hi," she whispered back. Relief coursed through her veins. To see him lucid—if not wholly healthy—and in one piece….The stress that had been building the longer Draco had been missing from the manor had melted off of her shoulders the moment his clear blue eye had met hers.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, love." He pulled her closer to him so that she was forced to sit on the edge of his bed. "I'm alright."

"I wasn't worried," she lied, looking away from him. He couldn't possibly be in tune to her growing feelings for him. She had been careful to behave in as neutral a way as possible towards him. He couldn't know that she'd been worried out of her mind for his safety; that scrubbing the whole floor from top to bottom was as much a distraction from Draco's absence as boredom relief.

"Sure," he chuckled lightly. "Listen." With his free hand he reached into his pocket and retrieved a square of folded parchment. "As soon as it's dark, I need you to owl this. Don't read it. Just open your window and call for Regan. She will come to you."

"Okay," Hermione agreed quietly. Draco pressed the message into her hand. The word OPTA was scribbled on the front. She frowned, wondering what the hell OPTA was.

"Don't think about it, Granger. It will just drive you nuts." Draco moaned as he adjusted his position. He was panting by the time he managed to make himself comfortable.

"You need to rest," Hermione said, drawing away from him to stuff the letter into her pocket.

"Wait." He reached for her again, catching the edge of her shirt. "Granger." He winced, swallowed. "I need you to get me a glass of water."

"Okay." She hurried to the bathroom to acquire his request and, when she returned, Zabini and Nott were back in the room.

He was talking very quickly and very quietly with them, but stopped the moment she was within hearing distance.

"Just like we discussed," he said seriously, looking between his two friends. "Understood?"

"Yes," they chorused.

"Good. Come back in a few days. I should be where I need to be by that point."

"Okay," Zabini said, heading for the door.

"Draco," Nott said, then he tipped his head in Hermione's direction. "Granger."

"Mr. Nott," she said politely. His grin, though too wide, didn't scare her. It almost made her feel…safe. It had as much affection as Draco's gaze usually held. Well, wasn't that interesting.

After they had left she hurried back to Draco's side. He accepted the glass and nearly slopped it all over his front.

"Here," Hermione sighed. She took the glass back and gently tipped the water into his mouth. He gulped it greedily, nearly draining the glass in one go. "Alright," she chuckled, taking it away. "That's enough, I think."

He smiled gratefully at her, then leaned back against his pillows.

"I'm so tired," he whispered, his eye fluttering closed.

"I'll let you rest."

"Hold on a minute." He forced his eye open—she could see the effort in the lines around his mouth. "What are you doing with that letter?"

"I am sending it out as soon as it's dark."

"Good. Don't show it to anyone."

"I won't."

"Come back here as soon as you're done." He coughed a little and she gave him a little more water. "One more thing." From the bedside table he grabbed a clear bottle full of a cobalt-blue liquid and handed it to her.

"You are to bring me my meals—only you. And," here he swallowed thickly, then shook his head. "And you are to put three drops of that potion in my food." His gaze was intense as he gave her the instructions. "No more, no less."

"What is it going to do?" His smile wasn't convincing.

"Don't you worry about it. Seven days, Granger. Do that for seven days. No matter what you see, don't you dare stop. Do you understand?"

She didn't, but she nodded anyway.

"It's very important that you follow my directions."

"I will." She attempted a smile and he grimaced back at her.

"I'll be okay. I promise."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**A/N: A bit shorter than normal, but it was necessary for some major plot development. Did any of you catch the things that were a bit…off? Any speculations about what's going to happen? I'm really interested in what you have to say!**

**Chapter Note: Carrion is not an author in canon. I made him up for the purposes of this story.**

**As always, thank you to all my new readers and all the old ones for your continued support!**

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**And of course, my lovely reviewers: Squidchan, Delenaluver, leeleeupu, Kar-Kar93, janjan2009, Tsubasagirl, and two amazing Guest reviewers**


	8. Eversleeping

**Chapter 8: Eversleeping**

Hermione sent the letter as soon as the sun had passed below the horizon.

And ever since that piece of paper had disappeared out of sight, everything had been going wrong. She brought Draco his dinner and he'd barely taken three bites before he'd fallen asleep.

And he hadn't woken up since. Of course, she didn't realize it at first, but the next morning when he hadn't woken up by lunch, she began to worry. She knew it was that damned potion. She'd done everything she could to prevent him ingesting more of it, but it had been a direct command and she was powerless to resist the collar's magic.

The third day she'd started crying every time she force-fed him his food. She had wondered why she was even able to be near him when Narcissa was practically in hysterics over him. But for some reason, Zabini and Nott were in on the whole thing and only let Draco's family through after Hermione had fed him.

It was agonizing.

Though his friends treated her as if she were a regular person—indeed, a highly-regarded friend—their behavior put her on edge. They should be cruel to her, but they weren't. In fact, they had even protected her from Lucius' temper on more than one occasion.

She even thought that the healer was in on it. If he was, he certainly was a competent actor.

"Granger," Nott prompted from the end of Draco's bed.

"Why does he want this?" She shook as her eyes clouded with tears. He was so pale and lifeless. His wounds had been healing, but with the potion keeping him in perpetual sleep, she had no idea how he was really feeling. It worried her, because his breathing was shallow and he shifted between chills and a fever almost hourly.

She hadn't left his bedside for more than a couple of hours. She avoided Nott and Zabini when she could, but she was aware that they knew she was worried about him. She often caught them conversing in low tones when they thought she wasn't paying attention, but they couldn't fool her.

"He just does. Feed him."

"Why don't you do it?" Her hands trembled as they hovered over his open mouth. She had soup in a syringe to pour down his throat. She'd been doing this for days.

"He only wanted you to do it," Zabini chimed in from across the room. He was shuffling an old deck of cards, a cigar in the corner of his mouth.

"Why?" she demanded, looking at him. Nott was the stronger of the two. He was able to resist her questions and her anger. Zabini, whether because he was scared of her (which wasn't really warranted since she couldn't hurt him even if she tried) or because he was sympathetic to her pain, was more open with her. She knew how to work him; that was how she got answers.

"Because you can't disobey him," Nott growled. He was lying. She could tell simply from the tone of his voice.

"Stop lying to her, Theo." Zabini shuffled his cards again. "He trusts you, Granger."

"Why?" she asked again, pouring the soup into Draco's mouth.

"Honestly, I couldn't tell you. He didn't tell us why, just that he would only trust you to do this."

Hermione grimaced as Draco began to convulse, just like he had every other time she had given him the potion. She bit back her sob in order to take care of him—shoving a thick leather belt between his teeth to prevent him from biting through his tongue, then pinning him to the bed. The tendons on his arms stood out and his fingers curled into his palms until his knuckles turned white. Foam dribbled out of his mouth.

"Fuck," she swore. It was getting worse. His breath came in great gasps and his struggles were weaker than they had been all week. It was painful to watch him go through this.

She shrieked a little when Nott wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away from the bed. Zabini took her place.

"No." She struggled against him. "I'm supposed to do it!"

"You've done just fine, love," Nott said gently. "Blaise will hold him down, you just need to rest a bit. You look like you haven't slept in days."

She hadn't. Not really. Every spare moment was spent tending to Draco, _worrying_ about Draco.

"No," she said again, attempting to loosen his grip, but he held her tightly against his chest.

"Stop. Granger, please." She went limp in his arms, finally falling apart. Great sobs wracked her body and he turned her around, crushed her to him. She cried into his shoulder—all the pain, fear, and helplessness that she had felt over the past few months came pouring out of her in an unstoppable wave of emotion.

"Shh, shh," Nott soothed, softly stroking her hair. "It's going to be ok. Draco wouldn't have agreed to take a potion that would do this to him if he wasn't going to make a full recovery."

"I'm not worried about him," Hermione snapped, this time managing to pull away. "You—you just stay away from me." She glared at him, at Zabini, then marched into the study, slamming the door behind her.

This was fucking ridiculous. She could not possibly be falling in love with Draco Malfoy. He hated her, for fuck's sake. Sure, he was a little nice to her, but that just proved her initial belief that he was at least part human. That didn't mean that there was anything else between them. Nott had no right to be pulling at strings that weren't there.

She restlessly paced the floor in front of the fireplace. Goddamn them. Goddamn Draco for ordering her to do this. They could all go fuck themselves. She was done.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Except she wasn't. Of course she wasn't. Even if the magic hadn't forced her to return to Draco's bedside, she would have anyway. She might be able put up a front to ward off Nott and Zabini, but she couldn't completely lie to her heart.

It was horrible.

But today was the sixth day, and she only had six more doses to feed him and then she was free from that obligation.

Nott and Zabini were still sleeping on the couch when she went in to feed Draco his breakfast. He looked peaceful and she was loath to upset him again, but she had to do it. She wasn't well versed with wandless magic, but she was able to cast a brief silencing charm to muffle Draco's moans. She wasn't up to dealing with either of those boys this morning.

After she had tended to Draco and brushed his hair away from his forehead, she passed silently through the room, not at all surprised to see Nott and Zabini, well, cuddling. Nott had his arm draped across Zabini's waist and their fingers were intertwined. Perhaps that was why she felt safe with them; they wouldn't be one to take advantage of her helplessness—well, at least not sexually. She'd suspected that they were…together…the night that Draco had dragged her out of bed when he was drunk off his arse. They'd been a little too handsy to be anything less than lovers.

They were cute, in a way. But still Death Eaters. Still dangerous.

She sighed and slipped into the study, wondering again what kind of poison Draco was forcing her to give to him. The potion wasn't quite as potent as the Draught of Living Death, but it was damn close. She was almost positive the convulsions Draco went through each time he consumed it were the result of some sort of allergic reaction, but she was powerless to stop giving it to him.

Not until tomorrow.

Angry—at him, at her situation—she marched to the window and threw it open. Just as there had been every morning since he had fallen into his condition of eversleeping, a small, tawny owl was waiting for her with a letter stamped with OPTA on the front. Her fingers itched to open it—find out what that infuriating anagram meant—but Draco had forbidden her from reading them and she had to file it immediately in his safe box.

Apparently these OPTA letters were top secret because the file box was hidden behind a stone in the fireplace. Even Nott and Zabini didn't know about it, as far as she knew. He'd entrusted the task to her.

Her fingers scraped at the grout when she pried the stone loose. In the hole behind it there was small metal box. She placed the latest OPTA letter on top of the others and replaced the box, then the stone. He had prevented her from going through the rest of his secrets, but she wanted to. Badly.

Not because she wanted to snoop or anything, but because she was curious. There was something…different, about him. She'd noticed it over the endurance of her imprisonment. It was something…good. Inherently good. She just hoped OPTA was just as good and that his reasons for keeping it secret were honorable.

The owl that had delivered the letter hooted at her from the window. She smiled a little and retrieved a treat from the bowl on Draco's desk. The bird ate it happily and preened his feathers as she stroked its head. Hermione offered it a small container of water and, after it had drank its fill, it gracefully took flight over the manor's impressive grounds.

She watched it until it disappeared, wishing desperately that she could be as free.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On day seven, Hermione was in a perpetual state of sickness. In place of the usual OPTA owl, a large black screech owl flew through the window and landed on Draco's tall stack of books. The bird glared at her as she reached to untie the letter.

"Ow!" she hissed, snatching her hand back. Her knuckle was bleeding from the animal's bite. "Bastard." Haughty, the bird ruffled its feathers in annoyance and turned away from her.

"Granger." Nott called her name as he entered the study, then froze, his face going pale.

"Granger," he said again, quickly moving to her side and shielding her body with his own. "Go back into Draco's room."

"What—"

"I said go! Get Blaise!" Hermione did as she was told, hurrying back into the other room.

"Mister Zabini—"

"Blaise, Hermione," Zabini corrected.

"Erm, Blaise," Hermione repeated uncomfortably. "Mister Nott asked me to get you."

"Blaise!" Nott's voice, shrill and angry, came from the other room. Zabini frowned and quickly exited into the study.

"Fuck." Zabini's panic was tangible as he hurried back into Draco's bedroom. "Ohhh, fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What happened?"

"You." Nott came storming in behind Zabini. She flinched away from him as he prowled towards her. "Stop it," he ordered—just like Draco had the day she had been brought to the manor. This time though, she didn't have to obey. She turned her face away from him as he neared, pressed herself against the wall. "Granger!"

He roughly grabbed her shoulders and spun her around until they were nose to nose.

"You stay here and you look after Draco. Do you understand? You follow his orders and stay here." Nott's green eyes flashed with several emotions as he shook her once and then moved away from her. She watched him, wide-eyed as he clenched his fists together. "When he wakes up, you give him this letter." Nott shoved a piece of parchment into her hand.

"Calm down, Theo," Zabini said gently, putting a hand on Nott's shoulder. "Don't yell at her."

"Fuck you, Zabini," Nott snarled, then stalked out of the room.

"What happened?" Hermione whispered again. Zabini sighed, approached her slowly, and then smoothed her hair back from her face.

"We've been called on a mission. It—it's not good. Theo didn't mean to snap at you, dove. He's just a little scared." Zabini cupped her face in his hands, leaned down and kissed both of her cheeks.

"You will be safe here. Just keep your head down, yeah?"

"Okay," she managed. He smiled gently, then straightened up.

"We'll be back in a few days. Hopefully."

"Zabini," Nott barked, throwing a jacket across the room into Zabini's arms. "Let's go."

"Be safe," she murmured.

"We will. Don't worry about us, honey."

She watched helplessly as Nott and Zabini left the room, then she collapsed into a chair. Good, god, this was bad, wasn't it?

But, perhaps not. Draco was still out cold; he had two more doses coming and would be effectively inhibited for at least another day. For all intents and purposes, he was safe.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He continued to sleep for several more days, even after she'd stopped giving him the potion. His fever had gone down almost immediately and Hermione had been almost overcome with her relief.

The letter that had swept Nott and Zabini off to their almost certain death had sent the manor and its residence into a tizzy. It seemed that Lucius had been called away as well and Narcissa was distraught. Between her son and her husband, the poor woman was constantly in hysterics and she had confined herself to her bedchamber.

Since she was left mostly to her own devices, Hermione kept constant vigilance over Draco's sleeping form. She continued to feed him soup and tend to his health.

She even slept by his bedside on most nights.

That was how he found her, half in a chair, half sprawled on his bed. His fingers were tangled in her hair and he was talking to her in a quiet, raspy voice.

"—knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Granger."

She sighed quietly and he retracted his hand. She sat up sleepily, wiping her eyes.

"Hermione," Draco breathed. His smile was weak but genuine and a healthy flush was glowing in his cheeks.

"Draco," she smiled back softly and brushed his bangs back from his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been asleep for a week."

"Ten days," she corrected quietly. He grimaced and coughed. "Hold on a moment. I'll get you a glass of water."

She hurried to the bathroom and filled the glass, nearly dropping it in her horror at her reflection. Her eyes were sunken and her hair was a nest of snarls. She splashed some water on her face and pinched her cheeks to give them some color. She was glad that she had brushed her teeth after lunch, too.

Giving her reflection the fakest grin she had ever given to anyone, she carried the glass back to Draco. His eyes followed her as she moved around the room, grabbing him a clean shirt and opening the windows to let in some fresh air.

Neither of them spoke as she helped him to sit up and tip some of the water into his mouth. He hissed in pain when she tried to help him dress and, after a short struggle that left him panting, he waved her off.

"Don't," he said. "And stop looking at me like that. I'm fine." She frowned, then settled back into the chair by his bed. He reached for the glass again, swallowed a sip of water, never taking his eyes off of hers.

"Where are Theo and Blaise?"

Shit. She had totally forgotten about that damned letter, but now she dug in her pocket and handed it to him.

His face paled as he took it from her.

"When did this arrive?" For as worried as he looked, he did not appear surprised at its exisistance.

"About three days ago."

Draco sighed. "And they've haven't been back?"

"No."

"Damn." He looked at the paper again and then crushed it in his hand. "Well, no worries. They will be fine." Hermione wasn't so convinced, but she didn't argue. Arguing with Draco was hopeless.

He turned his gaze back to her.

"And the other letters?"

"I put them exactly where you told me to."

"Good." He shifted on the bed, drank more water. "I'll have to look at those later."

Hermione hummed in agreement and folded herself into the chair, wrapping her arms around her knees. She had been worried about Draco's friends, so much so that she'd almost forgotten the OPTA letters. Now they were in the forefront of her mind.

How was it that he could trust her to handle them, but not to read the content? It wasn't like she could tell anyone. There wasn't anyone to tell. The whole situation annoyed her.

"You're upset." It wasn't a question. She shrugged in response. Yes, yes she was upset.

Upset because he forced her to force him to ingest a potion that he had adverse responses to. Upset because he was keeping secrets from her. Upset that those secrets upset her. Upset, damn it, that she was falling in love with him and there wasn't a damn thing that she could do about it.

And yeah, she was upset that Nott and Zabini had all but disappeared.

"Granger." She refused to look at him. She was _angry_ at him.

"Granger, look at me." She glared instead. He reached a hand out to her. "Talk to me."

"I don't want to," she answered honestly. Stupidly, really. He wasn't keeping her there. She could have left at any time.

"Please?" If she wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of begging in there. "I've been asleep for ten days. I'm starved for a bit of human interaction."

If she'd been in a better mood she might have chuckled at the boyish grin he shot her way. But, as it was, her ire was growing by the minute. Fuck him and his games.

"Hermione." His hand dropped to the coverlet and he looked oddly…hurt…by her silence. "Will you stay here with me? For awhile?" She didn't answer, only stared. He tilted his head to the side. "Will you read to me?"

She didn't really want to, but she agreed to anyway. She guessed she was just a glutton for punishment. She picked _Walden_, allegedly written by Thoreau, the squib, because it calmed her and opened up her mind. She hoped that it did the same for Draco.

She read for over an hour and Draco, turned onto his side, watched her tirelessly.

"'A field of water betrays the spirit that is in the air. It is continually receiving new life and motion from above. It is intermediate between land and sky—'"

Hermione broke off as the door swung open. Narcissa, dressed in a thin nightgown and hair falling out of her bun, stood in the doorway.

"Draco?"

"Mother," Draco sighed.

"Draco!" Hermione scrambled out of the way as Narcissa swooped down upon her son.

"Mother." Draco's voice was muffled against her body. Narcissa sobbed into his shoulder. "Mother, stop."

In a better mood since she'd been reading _Walden_, Hermione sniggered and slipped from the room. She deserved a nap.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**A/N: Buh, this is not my favorite chapter, but again, this was for plot development. And I promise there will be a more interesting things developing over the next 2 chapters. So, bear with me!**

**Also, just a note, the quote above is actually from _Walden_ and was written by Henry David Thoreau. The Eversleep potion is not canon (as far as I know) and was made up for the purposes of this story. The Draught of Living Death mentioned is a canon potion.**

**Thank you to all of my readers for your unwavering support, following, and reviews! I appreciate it all and, as always, if you leave a review, I will personally read and review one of your stories!**

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	9. A Prophecy of Worlds To Fall Part I

**a/n: hey all! Sorry about the wait. I needed to focus on my class, but it's done now, and I can put all my effort back into DPP. So, everyone needs to thank my new beta, Squidchan for reading through all of this and making sure it makes sense. She is amazing! **

* * *

**Chapter 9: A Prophecy of Worlds to Fall Part I**

Draco frowned down at the number of letters piled on top of his desk. Feigning reading, Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye. He'd been staring at them for almost an hour, his lunch all but forgotten.

Sighing, she shut the book (_Tell Me A Story_ by Sevron Michelin) and rose to her feet. It was nearing tea time and she needed to retrieve the proper materials from the kitchen.

She made sure that she gave him a disapproving look when she requested his lunch tray.

"Hmm?" He hummed distractedly, his eyes far away when he looked up at her.

"May I take your tray?"

"Oh, yes." He set his empty water glass onto the tray and handed it to her. His frown deepened as he took in his uneaten chicken salad and side of pudding.

"You need to eat," she rebuked him softly as she took the tray. "You'll never get your strength back if you don't."

"I know," he said softly, reaching for her as she made to move away. She paused. "Um, bring back a few chocolate biscuits, yeah?"

"Of course," she agreed easily. She was quickly finding it nearly impossible to deny him his requests. And she had a growing suspicion that it was not because of the collar.

Hermione made her way down to the kitchens, in a better state of mind than she had been in almost a month. Draco had been getting better, but he was still lethargic and he'd developed a nasty cough that refused to go away. She was sure that it was because of the Eversleep potion, but he denied it whenever she tried to bring it up.

Mitches greeted her with a wide smile as she pushed through the kitchen's door, but she was suddenly yanked around by her arm. She nearly dropped the tray and was grateful that the water glass was empty because Narcissa Malfoy, looking much more regal than she had for the past few weeks, was standing there, her face set and determined.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa greeted smoothly. Hermione dropped her gaze to the woman's insanely gorgeous sapphire necklace and curtsied slightly.

"Mistress Malfoy." She was surprised when the Malfoy matriarch made a sound of annoyance in the back of her throat.

"Why didn't he eat that?" Hermione should have known. Narcissa had a perfect eye for detail and had probably been watching the fully laden trays enter and exit Draco's room for the past several days.

"I don't know, ma'am."

"Is he feeling unwell?"

"I do not know, ma'am. He says he isn't."

"But does he look unwell?"

"Um," Hermione swallowed nervously. "A little? He has more color."

"Oh, good." Narcissa frowned a little, then smiled gently. "You'll make sure he eats more?"

"I've been trying, ma'am." Narcissa nodded and let go of her arm. Then, without so much as another word, she turned around and left.

Feeling bewildered, Hermione stared after her for several moments. Narcissa had never spoken to her directly before, and never about Draco's health. Hermione had done her best to stay out of the way and hidden, so this one-on-one interaction with Lady Malfoy was a surprise she had not seen coming.

Shaking her head, she returned to her task of making Draco's tea. He preferred Earl Grey with a splash of milk and half a cup of sugar. (That was a bit exaggerated, but it was disgustingly unhealthy how much he _did_ put in his tea). She'd figured out he had a bit of a sweet tooth and he tended to prefer his food and drinks sickly sweet.

She sighed a bit as Mitches complied with her request for chocolate chip biscuits. She didn't like when her schedule was interrupted and Narcissa had successfully imposed on her itinerary. She couldn't possibly understand why Narcissa was asking _her_ about Draco's health and his eating habits. He was perfectly capable of answering for himself. It wasn't as if he had barred her from his rooms.

Perhaps it was Narcissa's belief that Hermione knew more about Draco and his current situation because she was constantly in his presence. She supposed she should be flattered, but with her attempting to keep her growing feelings hidden in a tightly-locked box inside her head, Hermione was not privy to his every thought. Though he usually chattered away at her when they were together, it was never anything as personal as his health. He didn't like talking about his ailment.

She smiled down at the house elf as he swung by her with a heaping tray of freshly baked cookies. He grinned back toothily and then scurried away. The biscuits smelled delicious and her mouth watered as she hefted the tray with the tea into her arms. She could have filched one, but it seemed silly now to break tradition. Draco would share with her.

She heard voices as she approached his study and nearly dropped the tray when the door was yanked open before she had the chance to open it herself. She held her breath when she found a wand in her face.

"Granger," Nott sighed, dropping his hand. "Come on, then." He ushered her into the room, closed the door, and quickly cast several privacy spells over it.

"Granger." Draco motioned for her to join him on the settee. She set down the tray and handed him his tea cup before retreating to a corner where she would not be in the way. "Now, stop," Draco gently chided, catching her skirt in his hand. "Sit down." She did as she was told but she felt a little uncomfortable. Zabini was slouched in a chair and looked very weak.

"Mitches," Draco called and the elf appeared almost immediately. "Please bring up three more cups, a kettle of hot tea, and," here he glanced at Hermione. "And sugar, milk, and honey."

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf squeaked and then was gone.

"Ma—Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, turning towards him. Nott was pacing in front of the desk muttering to himself. It was clear that some sort of intense conversation was about to begin. She wasn't sure she should be there for it.

"Hmm?" He answered absently, breaking a cookie in half and offering a piece to her. She smiled a little and took it from him.

"I—should I be here? I have some chores to finish up—"

"No. I want you here." His tone was firm, but his eyes were gentle. He skimmed a hand up her arm before letting it rest on the back of the couch. She shivered.

Mitches returned very suddenly, another tray balanced on his head. He arranged the tea on the table, bowed so low his ears swept the floor, and then apparated away.

Hermione reached forward to pour Nott and Zabini their own cup of tea, but Draco held out a hand to stop her. She sat back, annoyed and amazed as he set about tending to the tea instead. She didn't really understand; it was her job to pour tea and do the mundane things in his life.

"Theodore," Draco said calmly, dropping three sugar cubes into one cup, then an extremely generous amount of honey. Nott didn't stop pacing. Draco dropped another cube into a different cup, then poured milk into that cup and the one with honey. "Theodore, if you don't sit down right now I'm going to off you myself."

Nott sneered at Draco as he sat in the seat farthest from Zabini. Hermione frowned. Something was off.

"Theo," Zabini said quietly, his face creased in hurt.

"Don't," Nott snapped back. Draco raised a delicate eyebrow and handed him the tea with nothing in it. Nott grimaced as he tasted it. "Tastes like shit."

"Might taste better if you weren't being an arse." Draco passed Zabini the tea with sugar and milk, then handed her the last cup. Of course, she hadn't been paying that close attention, really her focus had been on Nott, so when it was just the way she liked it she nearly spewed it out her nose.

Draco thumped her on the back. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she coughed, reaching for a linen napkin from the table. She held it over her nose and mouth, coughing heartily until she could breathe normally again. Draco smiled at her, laughter in his eyes, as she settled into the corner of the settee, the napkin on her lap, her feet curled up on the bench, and her tea balanced on the arm.

"Alright," Draco said, crossing one of his long legs over the other. He speared Nott with a stony look. "What's your problem?"

Nott shot him a nasty look and didn't answer.

"Blaise?" Draco prompted. The Italian looked uncomfortable and glanced wearily at Nott. Hermione was surprised to see such fury in the other boy's eyes.

"Um," Zabini began, looking down at his tea. "Theo and I—"

"'We' nothing," Nott snorted.

"Will you stop it?" Zabini snapped back. He sighed angrily and turned away from him. "I signed the agreement and Theo is being a bitch about it."

"You did?" Draco breathed at the same time Nott told Zabini to go to hell.

"I believe it's high time it happened. _He_ doesn't think so."

"You're damn right I don't! Damn it, Blaise, this could get us into so much trouble!"

"I don't care, Theo. I—you and I both know what's right and wrong and, right now, I'm all for fighting for what is _good_."

"And that could get you killed!" Nott shot an almost apologetic look in Draco's direction before he fixed his angry eyes back on Zabini.

"We face that risk no matter what we do," Zabini said gently. Nott's jaw tightened and he looked away pointedly. Zabini sighed, set down his tea, and shifted closer to the other boy. He reached out to take his lover's hand, but Nott jerked it back.

"I'm not ready to risk you," Nott said quietly, his voice strained.

The tension in the air was palpable and Hermione felt an urgent need to leave, like she was an unwelcome voyeur in a very personal moment. Apparently Draco had the same feeling because he stood up slowly and took a gentle hold of her elbow to lead her from the room. A glance back showed Zabini kneeling in front of Nott's chair, desperate expressions on both of their faces.

"Will they be okay?" Hermione asked when Draco deposited her in front of the fireplace in his bedroom.

"I'm not sure," Draco answered honestly. He drew his own chair closer and propped his feet on the arm of hers. "The terms of, um, the agreement are specific and Blaise is putting himself in a highly dangerous position. Theo's scared, but for more than just the work. They've been together for years now, and they made a vow to do things that would affect both of them together. I'm surprised that this didn't go the same way."

"They love each other?"

Draco smiled and looked down at his hands. "Yeah, I think they do."

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully. "If they truly love each other they will get through their differences. No matter what sort of thing separates them, true love conquers all."

"You really believe that?" Draco dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward. He cocked his head to the side and a tiny half-smile appeared on his face. And, the funny part was, Hermione could tell that his interest was sincere.

She laughed a little nervously and tucked her feet into the chair.

"Um, yes. I do."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you believe that true love is so powerful? You have always seemed, at least to me, to live based on logic. To find out you believe that love is so powerful just surprises me. Love isn't tangible."

"No," Hermione conceded, nodding her head. "It isn't tangible, but it makes sense. In a way, it is logical. Humans are highly emotional creatures and, as love is passionate and volatile, it is logical to believe that it is powerful. I mean, people have killed for love; and died for love."

"You mean like Romeo and Juliet?"

Hermione laughed. "No. I mean—just no. Shakespeare's view on love was slightly skewed, I think. He might have gotten a bit more right with Viola and Orsino, but in general, the love between his characters weren't as real." She took a deep breath and unfolded herself from the chair. Looking up into Draco's eyes to effectively ask permission, she reached out and took his hand in hers, then flipped it so it was palm-side up.

She traced her finger over each of his digits and along the lines of his hand.

"Love, to me, automatically builds a shield around you. For example, you have skin covering your entire body." She smoothed her thumb over the ivory skin of his forearm. "Your skin is smooth, delicate, perfect." She returned her wandering fingers back to his hand, honing in on the calluses he'd earned from work and Quidditch. "Love toughens that skin. Makes it thicker, like your calluses. Most of these, probably, are from things that you love."

"Yes," Draco breathed. His eyes were locked on her and she tried to ignore them. She felt highly self-conscious and her words caught in her throat. Her heart beat double time when Draco flipped their position and took to tracing the lines on _her_ palm. "Go on," he encouraged.

"Um, ok." She took a shuddering breath and tried to keep her mind from fuzzing up. "Your calluses protect your body from pain. They weather you and prevent further damage. Love is like that."

"And that is why you believe that it is powerful?" Draco's eyes were darker than normal when he met her gaze, the color shifting from gray to slate, then back to molten silver. She tried to look away but found that she couldn't. He was so goddamn beautiful.

"No," she answered honestly, but a beat too late. A little panicked, she tried to withdraw her hand but Draco kept it tightly trapped in his. She swallowed nervously and finished her reply. "I _know_ that that is why love is powerful. Harry survived multiple attacks from Voldemort simply because his mother had loved him."

Draco looked surprised at this information and he even looked like he might want to ask about it. He was leaning towards her, his breath fanning her face, platinum eyes dancing; but just then there was the sound of shattering glass and a heavy object being thrown against the wall.

"Fuck," Draco swore, dropping her hand and rising to his feet. There was more glass breaking and what sounded like the bookshelf slamming against the wall. "Stay here," he ordered.

She watched him worriedly as he drew his wand and carefully opened the door.

He closed it almost immediately, his face beet red. He hurried back to his seat and cleared his throat.

"I think we should give them a while longer."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**A/N: I have to admit this is not where I thought this chapter was going to go. I like where it went, but it was a total surprise! Originally I intended what ****_next_**** chapter will end with to be the end of this chapter, but as I started writing more, the second part kind of escalated into a chapter of its own. So, I can PROMISE ON MY LIFE that next chapter will get a little spicy. Thank you all again for all of your support!**

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**Thank you all for your well wishes with my class, I'm excited to say I'm done with it! I am so glad that all of you are enjoying this. I makes me much more motivated to know that I have a fanbase :) So thank you! And of course, to my amazing new beta, Squidchan, she's awesome and helped me tweak a few things to make them perfect for you.**


	10. A Prophecy of Worlds To Fall Part II

**Thanks again to Squidchan who is amazing and has great advice :)**

**10: A Prophecy of Worlds To Fall Part II **

Ever since their heart to heart, Hermione had been feeling anxious every time she entered Draco's presence. While he acted much the same, she got the feeling that he was watching her more and she was increasingly worried about spilling her affection out on the carpet in a puddle of sap, or worse, vomit.

He smiled up at her as she entered his study, a tray of coffee and muffins balanced on her hip. She set it gently on his desk and then curled up in one of the bay windows, drawing her dress around her knees and slippered feet. She rested her forehead on the cool glass, staring wistfully out into the garden. Summer was in full bloom, fronds of butterfly bushes waving at the clear sky, hibiscus plants basking in the sun. Birds were flittering from the magnolia trees to the bird bath near the cobbled path to the trees again.

She jumped suddenly at the hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," Draco said softly, his thumb soothing her skin.

"Hi," she whispered back, then turned back to the window. She shouldn't have sat down here. She regretted it immensely.

"You look frustrated."

"Feeling cooped up, is all." And it was the truth. She could open as many windows as she wanted, but that didn't make the fact that she hadn't left the manor in several months any less horrible.

"Me too," Draco agreed. She could see his reflection in the glass, watched him tilt his head and roll out his neck. "Let's do something different."

"What?"

He chuckled as he pulled her to her feet. She squealed in protest as he set her down, his hands tickling her ribs. He grinned at her, his white teeth gleaming.

"Come on, Granger." He held out his hand to her, his eyes imploring. "Trust me."

She hesitated for far longer than was socially appropriate, but Draco didn't move an inch. In the end, it was his hopeful expression that did her in.

She extended her hand slowly, giving him, and herself, the chance to back out, but when he still didn't retract the offer, she gently placed her hand in his. He squeezed her fingers and his eyes lit up as he pulled her from the room.

"Come on," he coaxed, sliding his guiding hand to her back. "I want to show you something."

Hermione followed obediently, but she hesitated at the door leading out into the garden. He tried to tug her over the threshold, but she dug in her heels. He'd told her the very first day not to leave.

"Hermione?" Draco asked gently.

"You said—"

"Don't worry about what I said. You can come outside. I give you permission."

She swallowed thickly and took a tentative step onto the patio. Draco smiled encouragingly and, once she was relatively sure the collar wasn't going to choke her to death, she relaxed.

"This way," he said, leading the way down one of the cobbled paths. They walked in companionable silence, the only sound coming from the birds and the gentle breeze.

Suddenly Draco chuckled, pausing at a junction in the path.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking around. Draco grinned at her, and steered her in the direction of a koi pond. The pond glistened in the sun, and strutting around it were two snow-white peacocks. "Peacocks?"

"They're mother's," he said, scooting around her. She watched him, giggling as he held out his hand to them. One of them, larger than the other, moved to greet him. It made a soft whirring noise and preened as Draco gently patted its head. "Father got them for her for their anniversary a couple of years ago."

"They're very elegant," Hermione said, nearing them. Draco smiled at her.

But, as if they had taken offense to her comment, both birds suddenly fanned out their feathers and the one Draco was petting nipped his fingers. He swore and turned back to her—a huge mistake. The birds squawked loudly and pecked at his heels.

"Bloody birds," Draco hissed, kicking out towards them. That only helped to infuriate them further and suddenly Hermione found herself running beside him, laughing hysterically as they escaped the peacocks' wrath.

"I hate those bloody things," Draco laughed, slowing to a walk half-way through a gorgeous wisteria tunnel. Hermione continued to giggle as she took in the view. The sun filtered through the purple foliage and she felt freer than she had in a long time.

"You don't like them?"

"No! They're mean!"

"Then why did you try to pet them?"

He shot her a look as if wondering whether he should answer and then he shrugged. "Thought they might like you."

"Oh," Hermione accused, nudging his side with her elbow. "I see how it is. Tempt the birds with your charm and then feed them your helpless victim." She shook her head. "You can't fool me, you foul drag—" she cut off abruptly as Draco stopped suddenly and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes were intent and his face was serious.

"Do you believe I am a monster, Granger?"

She'd just been joking around, but seeing how much it had upset him, she swallowed back her original response. He'd taken her by surprise and now she was caught in between her affection and her pride.

She settled on being honest with him, because he had been honest with her.

"No," she said quietly, covering one of his hands with her own. "I don't think that you are a monster, Draco." She'd only ever used his name a handful of times, and usually scathingly, otherwise when he was half-delirious. Relief was obvious on his face when the two syllables had rolled off her tongue and he let loose a blinding smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling in his mirth. He pressed his forehead to hers and nuzzled her nose, then pulled away.

"I'm glad," he whispered. Still grinning, he sauntered further down the tunnel, tossing her a look and saying, "I still have more to show you."

They walked in an easy silence the rest of the way. He led her out into an open field next to a massive stable.

"Do you ride?"

"Not often, but I enjoyed doing it on holiday," Hermione replied.

"We will have to come out here sometime soon."

The field ended abruptly at the edge of a dark forest. He motioned for her to come closer and they stood shoulder to shoulder staring into the abyss.

"When I show you this, you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone about it." His mouth quirked into a half-smile.

"I promise," Hermione said quietly.

'I mean it." She looked up into his eyes.

"So do I." He nodded.

"Good. Come here." He pulled her in front of him and then took her hand, turning it palm out. He pushed it forward, flattening it against a hard object in midair. He dropped his mouth to her ear and whispered, "now close your eyes and think: Number 1 Woodspell Lake."

Not only was it a lovely name, but when she opened her eyes, the view took her breath away.

Her hand was on a carved wooden door of a tiny cottage. The entire face of it was covered in blooming honeysuckle and yellow trumpet vine. The walls were made of stone infused with blue and green glass, and large, round windows gleamed like two eyes from the building.

"Draco," she whispered. He smiled at her, taking out his wand and rapping it sharply against the door. It swung open, revealing a single room bathed in light. The walls were mostly windows.

"Welcome to my safe haven."

Hermione cautiously entered the cottage, staying close to door.

"Come on, now," Draco chuckled, giving her a gentle push forward. "Don't be shy."

He moved past her to the opposite wall, opening the half dozen windows to allow the summer air to permeate the room. To the right was a single bed, a threadbare blanket folded up at the end. In one corner was a tiny kitchenette, and to her left was an odd assortment of chairs next to an overstuffed couch. A faded green rug covered most of the living space.

Hermione giggled and pressed a hand to her mouth.

"What?" he asked, smiling too. He was busying himself making tea, but he leaned back against the counter to watch her. "What?"

"I—" she broke off and moved towards the couch. "Did you pick this out?"

"Yes. Do you not like it?"

"No!" She laughed again, throwing herself onto it. "I would never have thought you would pick something so—so ugly!"

"Ugly?!" he said indignantly, abandoning the tea pot. "I'll have you know that I love that sofa!"

"Oh, it's comfortable," she giggled, throwing her legs over the arm. "But the pattern is horrendous." And it was. A garish orange accented with hunter green. The colors zig-zagged across the cushions, little white flowers scattered across the mess.

"Ok," he agreed, looking down at her. "I'll give you that."

His eyes were doing that thing again, turning molten as they stared at each other. She slowly moved so that she was sitting normally, never breaking their gaze. He leaned down over her, bracing his hands on the back of the couch and he slowly moved towards her. Closer, and closer—

Suddenly there was a shrill whistling and Draco jerked back, looking stunned. He shook his head, frowning and retreated to the kitchen.

Hermione felt sick. He'd been flirting with her outrageously for the past several days and, now that they were truly alone and she'd been open to his advances, he'd jolted away from her with such a look of disgust that it had honestly hurt her. Sure, she wasn't beautiful in any exotic meaning of the word, but she wasn't ugly, by any means. Maybe she wasn't perfect, but she'd thought that they—that Draco—had gotten over their blood difference.

If it was any indication of how he was studiously avoiding her now, that was not the case.

Feeling close to tears Hermione thought about getting up and leaving, but she couldn't very well escape with him so close. He would surely chase her down and demand an explanation. That was something that she was not ready to give.

"Granger," he said, the light tone they'd been using before reappeared in his voice. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you." She turned away, folding back in on herself. Of course, all the progress they had made had been thrown out the window. She'd stupidly allowed herself to hope that he might forget about the pureblood shit, but this just proved her wrong. He might be kind to her face, but she had no chance with him.

"Granger?" He sat down on a square ottoman in front of her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied, giving him an unconvincing smile.

"Hermione." He frowned. "Come now, we were just having fun."

She shrugged. Fun? Is that what he called it? He reached out a hand, probably to place it on her knee, but he diverted at the last moment. He sighed uncomfortably and stood up.

"I am sorry if I've done something. I did not mean to upset you."

She grimaced, standing up as well. "It is nothing you can help." She didn't wait for him. Hurt, she walked purposefully out of the door back towards the manor. Her chest was tight and she did not think that she could stand to look at him for at least the rest of the day.

"Hey!" Draco tramped down the path after her. For someone who usually moved so silently, he was an utter menace in nature. She could hear his approach the entire way, considered diverting from the path to further avoid him, but she decided she didn't want him to have to order her to stop.

"Granger!"

He spun her around, his face drawn and annoyed.

"Please let me go," she said quietly. She didn't want to fight him.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Let. Me. Go." She tried not to snarl at him, but she was sure that she failed because she was clenching her teeth together so hard.

"Stop," he ordered, clutching her arms. She was forced to still by the collar, but she bared her teeth angrily at him.

How dare he? How dare he order her to stand still and answer to him when he was so cruel to her?

Although he was clearly exasperated with her efforts to be dramatic (but not really because she was honestly pissed off) his face softened slightly and his grip gentled.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Talk to me, please."

She didn't want to talk to him. Not when she was angry, and hurt, and wishing she was anywhere but standing in front of him. So she stayed silent. He hadn't directly ordered her to speak so, for the moment, her thoughts were her own.

He sighed quietly and let her go.

"Please don't be angry with me. You're my only friend, Granger."

"Nott and Zabini?" she snapped. They were his best friends; it was clear as day to anyone who paid even the remotest bit of mind.

He opened his mouth to reply but promptly snapped it shut when a handsome Great Horned Owl came soaring out of the sky. It landed neatly on Draco's outstretched arm and, while he was distracted, Hermione turned on her heel and marched away.

"Granger!" Draco called after her, but she kept going. He'd told her to stop, so she'd stopped. He'd never told her to stay put.

She skirted close to the stables, hoping desperately that she could ditch him and sneak back to her room so she wouldn't have to deal with him for the rest of the day. Alas, that was not to be.

She glanced back briefly to see Draco pouring over the letter he'd received and then he let out an excited whoop and actually jumped into the air. It would have been quite comical if she hadn't been so cross with him.

She regretted pausing immediately, because once the distraction of mail had ceased to exist, Draco was back on the hunt for her.

"Granger!" He yelled again, loping towards her gracefully. Like a wolf. Or perhaps a gazelle. She thought he might be more annoyed with being a gazelle.

Shaking her head, she hurried in through the stable door, hoping against hope that he hadn't seen her go through there. There was a horse in almost every stall and they all snorted at her as she darted down the aisles until she found another door. But that door was locked and she could hear Draco's boots clacking against the floor.

"Granger," he sighed, skidding around the corner. "Stop running from me!" It wasn't a true command, because if she'd wanted to, she could have escaped. But he was laughing—laughing! A good, hearty laugh that boomed from his chest and reverberated around the lofted ceiling.

She wasn't sure of his intentions as he stalked towards her. She pressed herself firmly against the wall to put as much space between them as she could.

But then he was there, pulling her away from the wall, twirling her around in his arms, and then he was kissing her. Hard.

He pulled back after a moment that seemed to have been less than a second and stared at her, wide-eyed. "Fuck."

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**A/N: So this was actually a tiny bit longer than last chapter, and that spat I threw in there was kind of impromptu, but I am pleased with the results. How do you all feel about the end of this chapter? Is it about damn time? Because I think it is. But don't worry, there's a lot more drama and a few more dark passions to get through before the end of this fic. Thank you all again for your continued support, as well as the support from my new readers :). Offer still stands that for every review I receive, I will read and review a fic written by that reviewer. You guys are amazing, and I write for you!**

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	11. Love &

**A/N: I'd like you all to remember that this is rated M and has mature themes including explicit/implicit content. This is the last time I'm going to warn you, but I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. And everyone thank Squidchan for being amazing and making sure this all turned out awesome. (Sorry for the lateness, by the way. I went camping and didn't have wifi [OH THE HORROR!])**

**Chapter 11: Love &**

The moment he'd opened his mouth Hermione threw herself at him. She didn't know where her confidence had come from, but she was damned sure that since he'd opened that door, she wasn't going to let him close it again.

Their mouths clashed together in a passionate spar, their tongues battling for dominance. She could hardly breathe for his taste and his scent was washing over her. He tasted sweet, like his tea and coffee, but there was some kick there, too. Cinnamon or whiskey. And his scent—god, he smelled amazing. She'd been catching whiffs of it for months now. Leather, amber, and man. It assaulted her now as he lifted her into his arms and pinned her against the wall.

"Granger," he breathed against her mouth, nipping at her lips and splaying his hands on her thighs under the skirt of her dress. She gasped a little as he took her bottom lip between his teeth.

His eyes were turning that same, hypnotizing molten silver that she'd been seeing more and more lately, and the dim lighting of the stables threw the sharp planes of his face into stunning relief.

She buried her hands in his hair, pulling just a little to angle his mouth better so that she could plunder it. Again and again she swiped her tongue into his mouth, moving her fingers at the nape of his neck in time with each thrust.

He groaned loudly and pulled away slightly, baring his teeth at her as he swung them around and slammed her up against the door of one of the stalls. She used the movement to slip lower on his body and, once he had her pinned again, she bit his neck in a gentle rebuke and ground against him.

"Fuck," he gasped in her ear, thrusting his hips up against her. She could feel his need through his trousers, felt his hands digging into her waist. She adjusted her weight to give more depth to their grinding and latched her mouth to his throat.

His knees nearly gave way when she nudged her nose (quite by accident) under his ear. Oh, so he liked that, did he? Well, who was she to deny him such pleasure?

She trailed kisses up the column of his throat and tongued the spot that he had responded to. His knees buckled and he threw his whole weight against her.

"Granger," he admonished, attempting to gain his feet. "We—we can't—"

"Hush," she whispered, settling her feet firmly on the ground. He braced an arm on the wall behind her, bent his head to recapture her lips. He hummed appreciatively as she yanked his shirt out of his trousers and skimmed her hands under it. The muscles on his back were taut and quivered under her touch.

He hooked his free arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Again she was acutely aware of his massive cock straining against his trousers. Unable to stand the wait any longer, she slid her hands around to his front and pushed the straps of his suspenders down his arms. He growled at her, irritated that he had to let her go, but he shimmied out of them and clutched her back immediately.

Her skin was on fire. She wanted his clothing gone.

She made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, tearing them apart until his beautiful, sculpted chest was bared to her.

"Hermione." He growled low in his throat as she let her hands wander over his defined pectorals and abdominals. If he hadn't been so damn intoxicating she might have been able to admire the view a bit more, that and his scars. But he was already nipping at her mouth again, thoroughly distracting her.

"Fuck," he swore again as she scraped her nails over his skin. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the door. "We can't, Granger."

"Says who?" She challenged. He gave her a smoldering look, silver eyes glowing. Suddenly the door gave way behind her and they tumbled down into a great pile of hay.

He kneeled over her and shed his shirt, took her hands and held them to the floor. She struggled against his restraint. She wanted to touch him, too!

It was strange the change that came over him as he dominated her. The glow from his eyes was dusting over his skin and the desperation that had been driving them forward was still driving her mad. But where she was only becoming more feverish, Draco seemed to become calmer.

Through the haze in her vision she blearily watched him as his movements became more deliberate and, agonizingly slowly, he leaned down towards her. She squirmed under him, arching her hips to rub against his and his eyes closed in ecstasy.

"You are such a goddess," he sighed, exchanging a brief kiss with her. It should have worried her that he was so coherent, but as he initiated another mind-blowing kiss, she couldn't have stopped him even if she'd wanted to. His tongue probed her mouth and he shifted her wrists under one of his hands. The other pushed up the skirt of her dress.

"Yes," she gasped, desperate for his touch. He yanked the offending cloth over her head, then sat back on his heels, staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

"Hermione," he breathed, his voice taking on a strange double tone. He let her hands go and ran them over her body, cupping her breasts over her bra. She arched into his touch, panting. "You are mine," he whispered reverently.

His thumbs pushed the thin fabric down; her nipples pebbled in the damp air of the stables. He gave her a look that speared into her soul and lowered his mouth, taking one nipple into the hot cavern of his mouth.

"Draco," she whimpered, struggling to unfurl her hands from the knot her dress had made around her wrists. His tongue lathed over her areola and her body thrummed with need. Her knickers were soaking wet; all she wanted was for him to fuck her.

He moved his mouth to her other breast and gave it similar attention while his fingers smoothed over her belly to the elastic band of her knickers.

"Please!" she begged, thrusting her hips up. She could feel his steel-hard erection and it was driving her insane. He grinned down at her, his hair glowing with ethereal light, and his teeth—had they always been that long and sharp?

The digit he slid between her legs was more than enough to distract her from that thought. Who cared what he was doing as long as he kept touching her.

"That's it, my love," he whispered, moving his mouth to the skin of her throat. "I have waited many years for this moment." With a deft movement he yanked one of her hands down and guided it to cup his cock. "Do you feel that?" He groaned as she stroked him through his trousers. "My need for you? Only you."

His voice had taken on a darker note as he once again distracted her with a kiss. She managed to free her other hand and hurriedly worked at the button on his trousers.

She'd just gotten it undone and was on the cusp of her own orgasm when Draco jerked away, suddenly furious.

"No!" he snarled, taking a tight hold of her wrists. She whimpered in pain, her body quickly coming down from the high. "No," he repeated angrily, climbing quickly to his feet.

Startled with his response, she watched him as he slid his suspenders over his shoulders and snatched his shirt up from the ground. He didn't even toss her another glance as he stormed out of the stall.

"Wait," she managed, scrambling to her feet. She struggled a moment with the dress, but gave up when it didn't immediately slide back over her head. "Draco, wait!"

"No." He was nearly out the door when she caught his arm. She was confused by his sudden revulsion to her, angry for slamming the door he'd opened in her face.

"You can't just—just kiss me like that and leave."

He whirled around to face her, his face positively livid as he bared his teeth at her. She nearly tripped over her own feet as he pushed her back, a bruising grip on her arms. He slammed her against the wall and moved his face down to hers. The glow that had surrounded him before was entirely absent and all she could see was his fury. Through clenched teeth he snarled at her.

"Yes. I. Can."

He shoved away from her and stalked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

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She stayed angry for all of ten minutes as she righted her dress and marched across the grounds back to the manor. After that, when she was safely in her room picking hay out of her hair, she'd laughed about it. It seemed a bit like an erotic dream.

But it had been real. She'd felt him, smelled him, _tasted_ him.

Now, hours later, she was sitting in her bath tub, her knees pressed to her chest. Now she felt ashamed and embarrassed.

Rejected.

Sighing, she rested her forehead on her knees. She felt wretched. The sexual tension had been growing between them ever since she had been brought to the manor. Sure, it had been slow, but she hadn't been imagining it. Not when he was stroking her palm, asking her about love. Not when he was sharing his dessert with her. And certainly not when he was kissing her, stealing her breath away, and touching her so intimately.

No. She hadn't been imagining it. She may have been a bit naïve when it came to love and sex, but she wasn't stupid. She knew when a man wanted her.

But she wasn't enough for the great Draco Malfoy. Oh no. Mudblood she was, through and through. That would never change. She knew that now.

She sighed and stretched out her legs, debating with herself whether she wanted to refill the tub with hot water. Ultimately deciding against it, she pulled the plug, dried herself off, and changed into a silk nightgown.

She thought about getting into bed and going to sleep, but it was still light out. She considered reading, too, but all the books she had at her disposal were given to her by _him_, and she didn't think that she could concentrate.

She settled into the chair at the desk, staring out across the grounds and the setting sun. She wished that she could leave. At least at Hogwarts she could have avoided Draco for days if she wanted to. In the real world, she could have disappeared. Saved face by making sure no one ever knew about the moments they had shared in that stable.

But she couldn't. And she _hated_ him for that. She was obligated to wait on him hand and foot, deliver his meals, clean his rooms. There was no possible way that she could get away from him. There was no way that she could avoid the inevitable disaster that was going to follow their mistake.

The worst part was that she didn't have anyone to talk to about it. He had Nott and Zabini, and she had no one. House elves, if she could get one to sit down and listen. That certainly wasn't likely. And they wouldn't be much help anyway. Sympathy wasn't their strong point.

She let out a long breath and looked down at the polished surface of the desk. A short stack of fine, heavy stationary was set on one corner and a fancy eagle-feather quill and a glass ink-well stood vigil next to it.

Resolved, she took to the only method left to her. Reaching for the quill, she loaded it with ink and let her frustration and fear pour out of her.

She wrote for hours, her mind whirring late into the night. She wrote about the war—something she had never spoken to anyone about—and about Ron. About Harry, and Ginny, who she missed desperately. She wrote about her imprisonment; about Bellatrix. About Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.

Mostly she wrote about Draco. She wrote about how he made her feel more lost than she ever had before. Before coming to Malfoy Manor, she knew who she was. Strong, independent, level headed. Yet here she was, sighing over a man who didn't want her. She had never been one to allow her heart to rule before her brain, but Draco had flipped her life upside down and now she was a mess. He had been kind to her, and outrageously flirty. But that was all it was, wasn't it? Kindness and flirting. Nothing deeper.

Except… what had he said? When she was lying under him, all but naked, he'd said something to her. _I have waited many years for this moment… Only you._

What did that mean? He clearly hadn't meant it. If he had been waiting for her for so long, why had he shoved her away? Why had he been so angry?

And what was with the strange glow that had surrounded him? It wasn't there on a normal basis, but she definitely hadn't imagined it. It had started in his eyes and had washed over his body, bathing him in silver light. He'd been so beautiful that she'd been helpless to resist him.

She paused in her writing. That was odd. In all of her limited sexual experience, she had never been so involved "in the moment" to not have her wits about her. She circled _helpless to resist_ _him_ on the page.

And now come to think of it, she would never have thrown herself at him if she'd been in her right mind. But there had been something in that first kiss that had drove her to mad desperation.

She wrote that down too. _Mad desperation_.

Huh. She set down her quill and rubbed her temples. She wasn't the brightest witch of her age for nothing. She knew magic when she saw it. And this, this was magic.

_Then what stopped him? _

She asked herself that question as she blew out the candles and climbed into bed. If he'd been so inclined and desperate to bend her to his will with magic, why did he stop?

The question plagued her for the rest of the night. She hardly slept at all and by the time dawn rose over Malfoy Manor, Hermione Granger had decided she didn't want to know. Draco could go fuck himself for all she cared. She knew damned well that he didn't care about her. There was no use crying over it. She was back to square one, and that's where she should have stayed all along.

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**Thanks everyone again for reading, and Squidchan for her lovely editing skills. Just a warning here, I've been having a rough time with the next couple of chapters, so I can't guarantee that I will be able to continue updating every week. But I will try to get my butt in gear and get stuff done. **

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